


A Song of Starks and Sands

by Capsiclegirl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Abortion, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Animal Death, By our standards, Consensual Sex, Cunnilingus, Dildos, F/F, F/M, Fingering, Forced Pregnancy, Forced Sex, Lesbian Sex, M/M, Male/Male, Mentions of Rape, Multi, Oral Sex, Puberty, Rimming, Sibling Incest, Spanking, Underage Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Virginity Loss, child birth, just go with it, rape/noncon, sex as a tool, strangely effective birth control for the time, teaching sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:48:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 24
Words: 68,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22701244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capsiclegirl/pseuds/Capsiclegirl
Summary: Arya Stark is sent to Dorne to wed Prince Trystane, with Jon Snow sent along to protect her. In Dorne, she befriends the Sand Snakes, who teach both her and Jon in the ways of love and the ways of war. However, upon receiving a distressed letter from Sansa, who had been wed to Joffrey, the practically banished Starks must rally the North from Dorne to rescue her sister and get the golden haired monster off the throne.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Obella Sand, Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Elia Sand/Arya Stark, Joffrey/Sansa, John Snow/Oberyn Martell, Jon Snow/Robb Stark, Jon Snow/Robb Stark/Rosylan Frey, Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand, Robb Stark/Rosalyn Frey, Theon Greyjoy/Jon Snow, Tyene Sand/Jon Snow
Comments: 46
Kudos: 241





	1. Desperate For A Match

**Author's Note:**

> So this is an experiment, as two of the characters in this are hardly seen in the books (that I know of, as I'm only halfway through A Dance with Dragons). Obella and Elia Martell with feature fairly heavily in this, so I've had to invent personalities for them. I also wanted to keep Jon from the wall, since I think Jon really only goes because he hates himself so much as a bastard.
> 
> I've kept the timeline of the books up to the beginning of the first story, but set events after differently so that a few more years pass and so everyone is older. Instead of Jon Arryn being murdered, he goes home to properly raise his son, so Ned is hand of the king and its not really a problem. 
> 
> Also, there are no white walkers in this. Just didn't want to deal

All other prospects had been turned down. Arya had seen her elder siblings married off one by one. First her eldest brother Robb married a Frey girl, Roslyn, and it had worked out well enough. Despite her family's distaste for the Freys, it was a strategic match, and the girl sent up to Winterfell was lovely.

The couple had been allowed to get to know one another, supervised at first. Roslyn had seemed shy, desperately afraid of everything, and almost submissive in nature. However, after a few weeks away from the harsh rule of her father, and helped by Robb's steadiness and confidence, she bloomed into a charming and sweet, if not reserved, young woman. The two of them were wed quickly, Roslyn surprising everyone in Winterfell by tearing off her own clothes halfway to the marital chambers.

It really was a loving match. Robb would take his lady wife out riding and hunting with falcons, and so Arya had been allowed to tag along. As a present on her eleventh name day, she had been given a small merlin hawk, who she had named Small Claw. Her brother Jon had gone to the wall, but then came back less than half a year later, before saying his vows. He didn’t want to spend his life somewhere hidden away and so, so gloomy. He had missed Bran, and Robb, and Arya, and even Theon.

When Jon Arryn had stepped down as Hand of the King so as to more properly raise his son, her father had accepted the King’s offer to come down south. Arya had heard by word of mouth that her cousin Robin was a weakling, prone to shaking sickness, and barely weaned from the breast at eight. Despite the general talk being that it would be good for young Robin Arryn to have his dad bring him home to be properly reared, Arya knew that this meant her father would have to take up his position as the Hand.

So, her eldest brother married, Robb and Bran and Jon Snow had stayed in Winterfell, while she, father, mother, Sansa, and Rickon moved south into King’s Landing.

Sansa had been in love with the place from the start, having heard songs her entire life of the beautiful southern courts. Arya had been sullen, mostly hiding in her rooms until her father found her with her sword, 'needle,' a gift from Jon.

A betrothal was arranged between Sansa and the prince, which both her sister and her mother seemed excited about from the start. Court life seemed to agree with them, Cat and Sansa both taking on the roles of proper southern ladies.

Arya had thought it stupid, but at least she had her dancing lessons to content herself with. She spent her mornings with Serio Ferrell, interspersed with lessons on being a lady, and then would hide away in the evenings in the godswood with Nymeria. Here, she practiced a different kind of dance, jumping into Nymeria’s skin. No one knew, not even father, who had arranged to have her train in secret after he had found her ‘needle.’

These lessons she learned on her own. First, she trained Nymeria to look her straight in the eye, normally a challenge to a direwolf. Over time, she learned how to jump into Nymeria’s skin, and so, hiding in the godswood, appearing to merely be praying, she would sneak out of the Red Keep and go exploring in King’s landing.

She had memorized the silk street, begging at the doors for scraps as a timid, lost dog behind the houses of pleasure. Some of the whore houses gave only thin bits of bone and gristle, while the richer ones would hand Nymeria a steak or a capon.

She would explore the armories and forges, learning where the best armor was made. Seeing through her wolf’s eyes, she learned that one of the king’s bastards worked as a smith and was quite skilled at crafting helms. She had befriended him, and he always petted the wolf whenever she slunk through his forge.

In Flea Bottom, she would fight with other strays. She put them in their place, organizing them. She created a pecking order, so that when she killed a pigeon or a rat, her pack would get their share in the order she had arranged. Arya learned how to be an alpha wolf, and her skinny pack of mutts would do her bidding, stealing food or shoes or purses, just to see if she could make them do it. She was just beginning to formulate a plan, little by little. This was her little scrap of power, her wolf skin.

Nymeria would rest in the mornings, but by evening would be pulling her by her skirts out to the godswood, where Arya would ask to be alone to pray. No one bothered her, Ned glad she had stuck to the old gods, unlike her sister.

This feeling of power was often interrupted, however, when her mother would insist on her meeting some young Lord or other as a potential match. She would become sullen and Nymeria aggressive, and her plans for the day would all be canceled as she had to wash up and dress like a proper lady. Even her father insisted on it, once telling her that he would do anything to keep her from winding up like his sister. Arya didn’t understand this, it wasn’t because of her wild nature that Lyanna was kidnapped, she snapped back. Her father’s face had only grown dark and distant, and he spoke of it no more, but allowed Catelyn to keep trying to find their daughter a suitable husband.

They had considered the Tyrrells, but Catelyn didn’t want Arya married to a cripple, and neither Ned nor Cat consented when Theon offered himself, figuring if he was stuck in Winterfell as a hostage still, he should have a wife. They feared it was a trap, and so the offer was politely declined, and Theon continued to be a ward of Robb Stark.

They had tried the High Towers, but the matches just didn’t like Arya, and Bear Island wasn’t dignified, according to Catelyn.

Ned had said absolutely not to the Boltons, not wanting to marry off his daughter to people who flayed men alive. Even the Freys were turned down, nobody trusting them.

Whenever she had to meet a suiter, Arya wouldn’t speak, she had only looked them in the eye. She wouldn’t break the contact, even when ordered to. They would all back down.

Sansa had been next to wed, married to the prince Joffrey, who Sansa had claimed was beautiful and kind and brave. Arya had thought him stupid, mean and spiteful, but had kept her opinion to herself for once. She had attended the wedding, but only because she wasn’t permitted to skip it. Arya had watched her sister closely, now a woman grown at fifteen, she herself thirteen, her parents now desperately vying for a match. Sansa had seemed strained, the smile on her face almost manic. Arya noticed tears streaming down her face as she swore her vows, but everyone thought she was simply beside herself with joy as Joffrey swore to protect and love her. She didn’t want such things for herself, to pretend to be happy for the sake of everyone else.

It didn’t matter to them how good she was with her sword, or how easily she could slip into her wolf’s skin, as easily as putting on a coat, or even all of the city’s secrets she had learned. She was a girl who was humored by being allowed to train, but still a girl.

At the wedding feast, Catelyn introduced her to twenty young lordlings at least, but none of them liked her.

Alas, she was too wild! Her face too long, her fingernails too dirty. They didn’t like her showing off with her hunting hawk, or seeing the scars on her arm where it had sunk its claws into her, many declaring that if she were to be their lady wife, they would put a stop to that.

All of her matches rejected her, not wanting such a homely girl who knew nothing of being a lady. Her mother was beside herself by the end of the royal reception, while Ned was nowhere to be seen. Arya found out after that he had been talking to Oberyn Martell, speaking of an arrangement between Arya and prince Trystane.

Her mother had wept when she found out Ned’s plan, their final prospect for Arya. She was heartbroken, disgusted, and secluded herself to her chambers. It took a long time for her to come around to the match, but when Ned finally convinced Lady Catelyn of needing any match at this point, and this one being strategic and good, Cat had pulled herself together and agreed to it. However, her agreement came with a price: Jon Snow had to go with Arya and stay until she was properly wed, to protect her and keep her safe. Cat didn’t want to hand her daughter over to the Martell’s on her own, and this way she could rid Winterfell of Ned's bastard. Besides, Arya needed a husband, and maybe a change of scenery would teach her to behave.

So, nearly a year after Sansa’s wedding, her sister great with child, with her brother and the direwolves by her side, Arya was sent south on a ship to Dorne.


	2. Whispers of Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn and Ned discuss the decisions they made for their daughters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and leave kudos! Hope y'all enjoy

“I always thought that I would be happy when Arya left to be with her suitor,” murmured Cat, lying draped over Ned’s bare chest. They had calmed down after their love making, the dreamy afterglow still hanging in the air, but Catelyn cut through what remained like a knife with the mention of her displeasure with her daughter’s match.

“She’s going to have a good life, and she’s safe. What more could you ask for?” asked Ned, gently lifting her chin so that he could look into her eyes where they shone in the moonlight.

“She’s going to learn their savage ways, Ned!” she complained, her husband only looking away and letting out a sigh. “She’ll never be proper, she’ll be raised among Sands, and her husband will think it normal to stray. She may be a princess, but she’s going to only know the company of Dornish and Bastards.”

The way in which she said the word bastard made Ned realize she regretted sending Jon Snow. At the time, she just wanted him out of Winterfell. Now, however, she seemed to realize that sending Jon to a place where he would be regarded as anything higher than what he was was a mistake.

“Cat, I thought that you wanted our daughter to be safe…” He tried gently, hoping to reason with her. However, Catelyn turned over, curling up on her side and facing away from him.

“I had thought that the only thing I couldn’t forgive you for was raising that bastard in Winterfell. Now I know that there’s a second, you ruining our daughter’s chance to be like her sister.”

“Like her sister? Cat, be reasonable! You know that I only consented to Sansa’s marriage with Joffrey because my King demanded it, and we can be near her. I’m not fooled by her smiles and her pretenses, Sansa is miserable.”

This shut Cat up for a minute, but then she shook her head, not wanting to believe it. “No, she’s married to the prince and is carrying our grandchild, Ned. She’s everything we wanted her to be. If we had only kept trying…”

“Then Arya would be forced to be someone she’s not.” Ned regretted it as soon as he said it, realizing that he had unveiled his reasoning to his wife.

“You… wanted this for her? You want her to grow up in Dorne, to have dark children with a dark boy, and to someday raise his bastards too?”

“Not precisely, Cat. I wanted her to be allowed to be herself, my love. Plus, you got your way, Jon will never again walk in Winterfell.”

“But he’s still her BROTHER, Ned. Every time he called her ‘little sister’ I wanted to scream.”

“You can’t change what is, Cat. She will be free, in Dorne. Girls there are free, and so are bastards. You knew this when you agreed to it, and I agreed to it because I knew it. She’ll be happy, unlike Sansa.”

Catelyn once again shook her head, allowing Ned to wrap his arms around her. When once again she spoke the words wracked through her body in small sobs. “Sansa IS happy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone reading. Keep being awesome


	3. Who are these wolves?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya, Jon, and Robb contemplate what is happening in their lives at the moment.
> 
> Also, I gave Roslyn a personality, and Robb gets laid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I don't remember Roslyn having much personality in the books or show. Given, her appearance is rather brief, so I decided that her family was abusive and Robb has to navigate around that a bit.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Arya didn’t speak when she first met Prince Trystane, she wouldn’t even look at him. It was a good thing Septa Mordane wasn’t there, Sansa having insisted, pleading that she stay in King’s Landing with her. Good, Arya had thought. She didn’t like being around the old septa, who constantly scolded her. She would probably have a new septa here, which she didn’t care for the thought of.

Instead, she focused on how glad she was to have Jon, who seemed better off than before. He seemed a little less sullen, having spent a year in Winterfell with only Robb and Roslyn and Bran, without Catelyn’s cold stare. She couldn’t wait to show Jon how good she had gotten with needle.

“My lady, it is an honor to make your acquaintance,” said the prince, to which Arya simply wrinkled her nose and turned away.

The Prince extended a hand, but Arya still ignored him, refusing to even look at the dark boy. She just kept her eyes focused on the dock where her things were being unloaded, including her hawk and her wolf, who the sailors insisted on keeping in a crate out of fear of the creature.

“My lady sister is tired from the voyage, perhaps she should have a rest, get to know you better at dinner, if it please your grace,” started Jon, trying to make up for what his sister lacked in courtesy.

“Of course, and there you will meet my Uncle Oberyn, and we can get to know each other better then,” said Trystane, uncertain, and he waved for a servant to lead them to their quarters.

Once out of earshot of the prince, Jon Snow pulled Arya close, whispering under his breath, “Please, little sister. Behave. We are in the den of the Viper.”

Arya didn’t care, instead focusing on her feet as they were led through the palace. She almost walked right into the servant when they stopped at the end of an ornate, long hallway, but Jon caught her arm so that she didn’t stumble over. He didn’t want her to ruin the nice dress he had to practically beg her to wear, according to Lady Catelyn’s wishes. His being there depended on him making sure that this match happened.

“Your room, my lady,” announced the servant girl, opening an oaken door and showing Arya inside. “Dinner is in three hours. We will let the lady rest and refresh herself until then.”

The servant closed the door behind her, but not before Jon managed to mouth the word ‘behave.’ Then she was alone in her large, plush room. Arya allowed herself to look up, noting the ebony wood floors, the scattered cushions and light fabric covered walls. The room was airy and bright, and she noticed a sweet smell in the air from the blooming trees outside of the windows.

Still, she was a prisoner here, and she would have to marry and one day be a mother. She wanted to be home, with her dire wolf and her hawk and her horse. She knew that later on, Serio would be sent down, and she had her wolf and hawk, and she had been promised a new horse for her next name day, but she could have had a hundred horses, and she still would have been a prisoner here.

She walked deeper into her rooms, finding the bed chamber through a high archway in a wall perpendicular to the windows, with sheer curtains hanging from the arch. Inside the room, the bed was large and round, covered in thin, satin sheets and pillows, and…

“Who are you?” asked Arya, stopping dead in her tracks at the sight before her. In her bed were two girls, not much older than herself, one spooned up against the other.

“Oh, you’re here,” said one, sitting up and stretching.

Arya starred at the girls, unsure what to do. They were hardly dressed, wearing only thin small clothes and were in what she had assumed was her bed.

“This is my room,” she said, incredulous. “Who are you?”

“I’m Obella,” said the younger, sitting up and cracking her neck before rising to her feet. Her hair was tied in tight, thin braids, and her eyes were dark as she looked Arya up and down.

“And I’m Elia,” stated the older girl, sighing into the pillow. “Our father is Oberyn Martell, Prince of Dorne. We were instructed to share our chambers with you so that you would have companions your age.”

“Wonderful,” muttered Arya, looking away as the two girls stood up, wishing to be alone.

Arya looked around and found a similar archway across from the one leading to this room, and found a similar bed, luckily, with no other girls in it. She wanted to jump into it and hide under the covers, but they were too thin to properly drown out all the light from outside. She thought everything was far too bright. She needed to be alone, didn’t want to share her room or be here in this ridiculous place.

“Want us to dress you for dinner?” came Elia’s bright voice from behind her.

“No,” said Arya, determined to get these girls to leave her be.

“It’s either us, or a chambermaid. And trust us, we have much better taste than the chambermaid,” said Obella, taking Arya by the shoulder and thrusting her backward so that she landed on the bed.

The two girls showed Arya her wardrobe, at first seemingly nothing but fine, silk dresses. Breezy, long, in bright summer colors. Arya didn’t say anything to these, not wanting any of this.

“Maybe something a little more..” started Obella, opening a cabinet and pulling out a pair of loose breaches, a deep green. There were several pairs of breaches, studded leather belts, and loose shirts. Arya chose the green breaches and a belt, and a black shirt, tucking it in and trying to pull it tight.

“I don’t like how it hangs down,” she complained, feeling almost naked with the soft fabric that felt as though it would slide right off.

“Try this,” offered Obella, handing Arya a yellow vest that she buttoned up tight in front.

“There, a princess of Dorne in the making,” said Elia, to which Arya shook her head.

“I’m not a princess,” she insisted.

“Then what are you?” asked Obella, and then chuckling at Arya’s inability to properly answer. “You’re dressed, at least.”

Arya farrowed her brow at this, not liking these two girls who seemingly only wanted to dress her up and call her princess. “I’m a wolf,” she muttered.

“Then where’s your tail?” asked Elia, sweetly. Arya clamped her mouth shut and decided to ignore them.

Instead, she noticed that some of her things had already been brought in, and so she set upon them, pushing Obella out of the way as she leaned down to attempt to open a large trunk. “I need to unpack.”

“As you wish,” sighed Obella, taking her sister by the arm and bringing her back into their area of the bedroom.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jon Snow was led into a large, bright room with a bed bigger than the one he shared with his brothers in Winterfell, with silk curtains hanging closed over the round window.

“You’re room, my lord,” said the servant girl, bowing politely as she left. Jon looked around his room, unsure of his new surroundings. He wanted his wolf, but didn’t know what he would do with Ghost when his direwolf was let out of his crate. He hoped they’d find a solution, as he didn’t want ‘his other half’ as his brother Robb called their wolves sometimes, to suffer in the heat. At least winter was coming, so maybe it would get milder down here in Dorne.

He found a pitcher of wine and poured himself a small cup while he undressed, his thick leathers and wool jerkin clinging to his skin uncomfortably in the heat.

Jon wasn’t sure if he liked the weather, but he liked the wine, he decided, after the first tentative sip of the slightly sour liquid. This was a better alternative, he concluded. He could have been back at Winterfell regarded as a lowborn bastard by all but his brothers and sister in law, or getting ready to join the Night’s watch. But staying here with his little sister until she was wed, and then maybe after, if it was deemed okay, seemed a better arrangement. Maybe here he could be trained as a proper night. Someday he could return to Winterfell and be Robb’s second in command, perhaps. Anything to feel belonging and to get away from Lady Catelyn’s disapproving glare.

He was pulled from his musing when he heard a knock at his door, still only half dressed.

“Indecent,” he called, not wanting to embarrass the serving girl.

“It is only I,” came a male voice, and then Prince Oberyn himself walked in, casually, like he meant that it was only he.

Jon bowed low, not quite stopping himself from taking in the prince’s appearance. He had seen prince Joffrey in King’s Landing while stopping there to pick up Arya. The young prince seemed pallid and skinny. Not unhealthy, but didn’t have the cut, muscular and lean body more common from the hard life in the north.

Prince Oberyn was quite different, muscular and dark skinned, his eyes a deep brown and his straight black hair hanging down around his face like a luscious dark waterfall. The prince was, to say the least, handsome to behold. He was also quite tall, as tall as father, thought John, and he couldn’t help but stare just a little bit.

“None of that here, Jon,” said Oberyn as Jon rose, extending his hand and taking Jon’s in his, shaking it.

“I’m sorry, my prince,” muttered Jon, a little bit flustered.

“You’re sorry, why?” asked Oberyn. He saw how John carried himself, so obviously frightened of causing offense, as if his whole existence was itself an offense. Oberyn knew how they treated bastards in the North. He had gone up to King’s Landing for the marriage of Sansa to Joffrey, and his paramour was not treated with the kindness he had wanted for her. Instead of treating her like a lady, she had often been mistaken for a lady’s maid.

He knew that this transition would be slow for Jon, to be accepted as a person, and so he wouldn’t push. Instead, he would simply treat Jon as an equal, and let him get used to it slowly.

“You have caused no offense, young wolf. Now, I wanted to meet you before dinner to discuss our arrangement.”

Jon almost froze, uncertain, afraid that he would be told to keep out of sight or not allowed to train. Training with the sword was his life, he and his brother Robb training together since as far back as he could remember. He couldn’t have this taken away from him.

“You’re to be trained in a manner similar to how you are accustomed. However, I wish to warn you that we allow women as well as men to train with the sword here in Dorne. Many a North-man has come down here to feel belittled to train alongside my daughters.”

Jon was taken aback, opened his mouth and closed it, genuinely surprised. Prince Oberyn took this opportunity to pour himself a cup of wine and to get a better look at Jon, walking around the younger man while keeping his eyes locked on him.

Jon was muscular, with broad shoulders and tight abs. His curly hair was shaggy, so brown it looked almost black in contrast to his pale white skin. He would have to protect himself from the sun here, Oberyn thought, taking in his lovely gray eyes. This cut, handsome young man yearned to be touched, he thought, to be properly loved. He would watch him, he decided, see what he fancied, and provide it for him.

After thinking for a moment, Jon shook his head, deciding to go with it. “That is perfectly fine, my prince. I take no offense to whatever customs are practiced here.”

“Really?” asked Oberyn, raising one dark eyebrow. “We’ll see about that, young wolf.”

Jon wasn’t sure he licked being spoken to in this way. Given, it was with more respect than most of the people back in Winterfell, but he wasn’t a Stark, not a wolf.

“You are mistaken, my prince. I’m not a Stark,” he said quietly, looking away from the handsome man who stood just a little too close.

“Then my daughters are not snakes, and yet they all have my eyes, just as you have your father’s.”

Oberyn stepped a bit closer and took Jon Snow by the chin, pulling to lift his face gently to more intensely study his face. “If you’re not a wolf, then what are you?”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Please, come to bed, love,” said Roslyn, sweetly, lying naked among the furs on her and Robb’s bed. She had a wolf skin draped over her shoulders, supporting her head with her hands, looking up at Robb as he read over letters from his Lord parents.

“I’m almost done,” he said, squinting in the dim candle light. He wanted to join his wife immediately, to dive into her sex and lick her until she came on his face. However, even as his cock twitched at just the thought, he needed to finish reading this final letter. Correspondence from his parents were few and far between, due to the king’s mismanagement of the kingdom keeping them both busy.

“My sister Sansa is pregnant, she’s going to have a little prince or princess,” he muttered, setting the letter down with regret. The thought of her and the prince made him farrow his brow with concern, especially once a helpless babe was involved.

“That’s nice,” said Roslyn, before seeing the serious expression on Robb’s face. “What’s wrong?”

The young Lord sighed, unsure what to tell his wife. He had developed a distaste for the Lannisters from his parents, and when he and Roslyn had visited King’s landing, his distaste had turned into an almost boiling hatred upon meeting Joffrey. He had taken his father aside and told him that if he allowed his sister to marry the prince, he would become both a kin and a prince slayer. His father had told him to mind his own household and to be gone back to the north, and so he missed Sansa’s wedding altogether.

He wasn’t sure how to phrase his fears for his sister to Roslyn, who was frightened whenever hearing about cruel matches or family abuse. She would freeze, gaze off into the distance as if reliving something horrible from her old life. Her father had been cruel, and so had various, previously considered suitors. When Robb agreed to the match, she had seemed so timid upon meeting him, afraid. He had kept a respectful distance until she had become less shy of him on her own. Robb always considered this whenever talking about his sister’s situation, but Ros had figured it out on her own. She had the rule that she didn’t want the details, just wanted to know how to make things better. There wasn’t anything that could make this better now though, Robb thought.

“Nothing, just thinking about being an uncle,” he said, knowing his wife would realize what he was thinking. She knew of Sansa’s distress, and knowing that Robb wanted to protect her, realized he would skip the details. She immediately started planning on how to fix things, Roslyn was practical in that way. She seemed to believe that since things worked out for her, she could use kindness to fix anything. Sometimes Robb even believed that she could

“Well, maybe we should plan to have Sansa visit, so that her child can meet their cousin,” she mused, the way she did when laying out plans, as if speaking to the air.

“Right, that’s a goo- What now?” he asked, turning and looking at his wife, surprised. What cousin? Was she? “Roslyn, you’re”- “I’ve missed two moon’s bloods, and maester Luwin confirmed it,” she said sweetly, leaning forward toward her Lord husband, who leaned down and kissed her between the eyes.

“Oh, love,” he said, climbing onto the bed next to her, turning as she rolled over onto her back to look up at him. “We’re… you… This is everything I’ve ever wanted.” Of course Roslyn would wait until this moment to let him know about this, used the news to make him feel better.

And it worked, he thought, looking down into her light brown eyes. He leaned in and took her mouth, hungrily, Ros opening hers to welcome his prying tongue. He kissed down her body, reaching her breasts, cupping one in each hand and nipping at her nipples, making her moan.

“Yes, Robb, my wolf, my wolf,” she sighed, her breath hitching as Robb bit down on the meat of her shoulder. At that, she wracked her nails down his back and gasped as Robb continued to bite and suck on the same spot.

“Turn over,” he said, urgently, so wanting to claim her. She complied without hesitation, loving it this way. She claimed it allowed for more friction, and she didn’t feel trapped under him like this. Robb suspected feeling trapped was another reminder of her family, or some sort of abuse she had endured. Roslyn had been afraid of tight spaces since he had met her, and so Robb always did his best to never collapse on top of her, to not press down hard onto her when he was on top.

Her round backside bared to him, Robb licked a finger and delicately rubbed it around her entrance, enticed by the sounds emanating from Roslyn’s mouth as he carefully pushed one finger inside her sex.

She was so wet for him, so eager that she bucked back onto his finger, and so he gave her another, pushing both fingers into her warm and tight canal.

“My lovely wife,” he murmured, nipping at her rear and relishing her squeals as she tried to get his fingers to go deeper.

Meanwhile, his cock was so hard, it ached for her. The thought that she now carried his child enticing him more than he thought it would. It felt like proof, of a sort, that they had claimed each other.

“Please, Robb,” she sighed, a smile coming to her lips as she felt Robb’s aching member line up with her entrance. She moaned loudly as he pushed inside, spreading her legs a bit wider to take all of him.

She turned her head, Robb leaning down and claiming her mouth again, before pulling back and then thrusting forward. “Oh, yes,” she moaned, just as Robb’s hard cock stretched her wide. “Take me.”

Robb used her hips to pull her back and forth, thrusting in deep, listening to her moans until he hit that one spot, deep inside of her, that always made her scream in pleasure. Upon finding it, he dug his nails into her hips, thrusting in harder and aiming for that spot.

“My love, Ros,” he moaned, reaching around with one hand and cupping one of her breasts, enjoying the way the back and forth movements made it bounce. “You’re mine, and no one will hurt those who are mine.”

“Yes,” she cried, feeling safe and protected with him, spreading her legs wider, wanting him deeper, more of him. And he gave it, thrusting in harder and releasing her breast to run his hand down her belling. He tickled her as he went, making her giggle, until he reached the curly brown hairs that crowned her sex. He searched for her clit, finding it and pinching it gently before rubbing it with his fingers, delicately at first, and then faster, to match his thrusts.

Roslyn’s breathing became shallow as she started to get close, her cries interrupted by short pants and whines. His cock inside her, splitting her, and his deft fingers working her clit, her orgasm crashed upon her quite suddenly, making her arms give out from under her. She called out as her walls clamped around Robb’s hard member, and then he was spilling into her, groaning and digging his nails into her hips at his release.

Robb pulled out, laying out flat on top of the furs, Roslyn crawling up next to him. He liked this, having her come to him, laying down so that she didn’t feel trapped and watching her make her way up to where he lay. She curled up next to him, kissing his cheek gently.

“Robb,” she whispered, close to his face. “My wolf.”

“You’re a wolf too, now,” he murmured, brushing her hair out of her face. “My precious she-wolf.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all like it! Please leave a comment.


	4. Of Drunken Wolves and Bruised Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Starks are reunited with their wolves at dinner, and Arya with an old friend. Meanwhile, Jon may have bitten off more than he can chew with the Sand Snakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, do not hate me for this. I both want to make the Dornish accommodating, but want it to still be uncomfortable. I want to emphasize that their culture is very different and even them being kind and hospitable is meant to come across as strange to the Starks. 
> 
> Except Trystane. He's an ass, here.
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy!

The table was laid with all sorts of delicacies that Arya and Jon had only ever heard of. Desert rabbit with spicy pomegranate sauce, stuffed grape leaves, little fish fermented in wine, sauces made from peas and beans and herbs, roasted snake laid on a bed of creamy grain, salads of olives and fire peppers, goat carved thin and served over flat bread, chicken's livers and strange fruits and bowls of nuts, and strong sweet wine. 

It wasn’t only the food that was strange, but the manner it was served also was unusual to the two Starks. Instead of sitting in individual chairs, they sat on cushions on the floor, the table low to the ground. Instead of trenchers, each dinner had a brass plate, and instead of silverware, each plate had a piece of flatbread to eat with.

“We don’t go easy on people planning on staying long in Dorne, when it comes to introducing the cuisine,” stated Ellaria, grinning across the table at the wide eyed northerners. All of the Sand Snakes were at table with them, as well as Oberyn and Trystane, eager to see the reactions of their new wards.

Arya starred, transfixed, so amazed by the spread that she had momentarily forgotten to be angry. Jon Snow seemed timid, afraid of touching such lovely fair, as if it were above his station. 

“Please, eat, I’m sure you both are tired of sailor food from the journey south,” said Oberyn, offering a serving spoon full of the creamy, saucy grain with bits of roasted snake to Jon and Arya. 

Jon nodded politely, famished and excited, if he were honest with himself. He had been warned that Dorne was different, but he had decided when he arrived that he would try whatever was offered, except that which crossed his honor. 

Arya politely tasted the food spooned onto her plate, enjoying the taste of garlic and oils, until something hit her tongue and she started panting. Pained from the intense heat, she reached for her cup only to find that the water made it worse, and Prince Trystane started laughing as she struggled to try and cool her burning mouth. 

“It’s not funny,” she cried, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. One of the Sand Snakes quickly handed her something, and she immediately bit into it, desperate, and then sighed in relief when the crumbly goat cheese cooled her mouth. Forgetting her manners, she didn’t thank whoever had given it to her, spitting it out into a napkin. She was teary and snotty, and didn’t know how to survive on food that bit back. 

“It is somewhat funny, sometimes, but definitely not proper to laugh about at table,” said Oberyn, glaring at his nephew, who sunk down low in his seat.

The boy was dressed in fine silken robes with a white turban with a large red ruby at the center, clearly trying to impress. However, the only impression anyone got from him was that he seemed younger the older that prince Trystane dressed.

“Here, try some of this,” offered Obella, giving Arya some bread and goat, which she tentatively tasted. 

Arya nodded, muttered a ‘thank you’ and chewed, looking down, trying to avoid their stares. It was awful enough to have to get married, but they were trying to be nice. That made it worse, harder to hate them. Guilt wasn’t a feeling Arya much liked. She just wanted to be alone with needle and her wolf.

Realizing she hadn’t seen either wolf since they had landed, she looked up, startled.

“Where’s Nymeria and Ghost?” she whispered, looking worriedly about the dining hall.

“Who’s ghost?” asked the second eldest of the Sand Snakes, Nymeria, leaning sideways to get a better look at the girl.

“She means the wolves. Yes, they’re here. Unfortunately, due to the weather, we had to make a few, erm, adjustments,” said Oberyn, nodding to a servant.

“What do you mean?” asked Jon, challengingly. 

Suddenly, the sound of distressed yipping ripped through the dining room, and then two large, tightly shaven wolves came darting through the curtains.

The two wolves would have been unrecognizable if not for their size. Fully grown, they were about as big as small ponies. Jon gasped and brought his hand to his mouth, while Arya dove from her cushion, wrapping her arms around her wolf’s neck.

“What did you do to them?” she demanded, crying as she ran her fingers around the fuzz which barely remained of Nymeria’s once majestic coat.

“Seven hells,” swore Jon under his breath, petting Ghost’s ears, narrowing his eyes as he noticed just how wobbly on his feet the direwolf seemed, like a pup again. 

“We’re sorry,” said Oberyn, standing up and holding up his hands. “We are truly sorry, but it was the only way for the animals to stay in Dorne. We didn’t want you to be separated, but they were miserable in the heat.”

Arya was burying her face in Nymeria’s neck, trying to hide the fact that she wanted to cry.

“Why’s he acting… drunk?” asked Jon, observing the way his direwolf swayed from side to side. He didn’t like this, the shearing he knew was necessary, but what had they given his Ghost?”

“We gave them meat soaked in dream wine, to calm them before the shearing. We did not hurt them,” said Ellaria, standing and walking around the long table to the wolves. She knelt down and reached out a hand to Ghost, who licked her fingers gently. “I gave it to them myself, and Tyene helped me to portion it correctly to avoid making them sick. They are gorgeous animals and we meant them no harm.” 

Jon Snow stared at her, uncertain. But if Ghost trusted her, then so would he. “We can keep them, then?” he asked, looking down.

“It was never a question. We find ways, here in Dorne, for all to be happy.” 

Arya still wasn’t speaking, glaring at her betrothed, hating him for this. It wasn’t even him, but she didn’t care. If Trystane hadn’t agreed to marry her, she wouldn’t be here, and her wolf wouldn’t be drunk and shaven. 

“Fuck you,” she said, standing up. Looking her suitor straight in the eye. “I hate you, and will never marry you.”

Trystane raised his brows at this, and everyone quieted and stared at the girl. 

“Arya, it wasn’t his faul”-”I don’t care.”

She stood up, Nymeria standing and turning to follow her.

“You haven’t finished eating,” pointed out Jon, but Arya walked out, followed by her stumbling direwolf. 

Jon Snow quietly turned back around to face the others, Oberyn, Trystane, and all of the Sand Snakes.

“I’m so sorry,” he muttered, closing his eyes and not knowing what to do. He was lost here, unfamiliar with the customs, and not knowing if there was any saving grace to any of this. 

“Don’t be, she’s upset, but we’re having our alliance one way or another,” said Trystane, only to be slapped by Oberyn. “Ow, what did I do? I only repeated what Prince Doran said.” 

“Stupid boy,” muttered Oberyn, shaking his head. “Learn to be good to your betrothed, and maybe you’ll be worthy of her.” 

Oberyn sat back down and, taking a deep breath, began to pass around a plate of olive salad, as if nothing had happened. 

Jon attempted to eat, but with the strange new fair and the uneasiness he felt, he could only manage a few bites.

“That’s more than most northerners at their first taste,” stated Obara, smirking. “Father, I’m done. May I see you tomorrow at training?”

Oberyn nodded his leave, and Obara and the other two elder Sand Snakes got up and left the table without a word.

Ellaria, back at Oberyn’s side, smiled sweetly at Jon, who didn’t know how to shake her gaze. Her eyes pierced him, and the way she leaned back against her cushion, delicately, was enticing. “Things here will improve, my young lord. Of course, we won’t force an unwanted marriage, I believe that Arya will come to like Trystane well enough to accept this arrangement.” With that, she sat up and reached out, ruffling the young prince’s hair condescendingly. 

“If it doesn’t, I was told her only prospects were the silent sisters,” said Jon Snow. He just wanted his sister to be happy, or at least happier than what most arrangements would allow. He knew that he didn’t have much chance, as a bastard, but maybe protecting her could be enough. 

“We will protect her,” promised Oberyn, solemnly. “If she doesn’t want to marry him, maybe she can be a prince’s guard.”

“But father said”-”I don’t care what your father said,” stated Oberyn, backhanding Trystane once again, the remaining Sand Snakes laughing as Trystane rubbed at his bruised cheek.

Jon Snow was pleased at this, and when a dessert of figs and sweet cream came around, he was even more relieved due to the cooling effect it had on his hot mouth.

“That’s delightful,” he said, surprised at himself, never being so relieved at the taste of a dish before. It would be hard, but Jon knew that he must gain a taste for the cuisine here. 

“There are other sweet things here in Dorne, Jon Snow,” purred Ellaria, plucking a piece of sweet meat from a tray and tossing it to Ghost, who caught it in his mouth.

“Can we train with Arya and Jon tomorrow?” begged one of the younger Sand Snakes, and their father nodded. “If they aren’t exhausted from their journey, I don’t see why not.”

Finally, the meal was done, and as Jon was about to turn in for the night, Ellaria caught him by the hand. “You and your sister may be family soon. Kiss me goodnight, good nephew,” she said. Jon Snow froze for a moment, then attempted to kiss her cheek, only for Ellaria to kiss him on the mouth. It was quick, but she held his jaw with her hand and spun him so that all present could see what kind of kiss it was

“Well… I, um… Goodnight, my princes, Lady Sand,” he stammered, blushing and barely stopping himself from outright sprinting off, Ghost pattering behind him. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sound of swords, the smell of oil, and walls and walls of weapons. These familiar things greeted Jon the next morning in the training yard of Sunspear. He had found a bowl of fruit and bread and honeyed milk outside his door, and once fed and dressed, wandered outside to train. 

He was dressed in his usual leathers, somewhat uncomfortably, but as it was still early, the sun wasn’t that bright and the temperature still bearable.

“You expect to train in all that?” asked Obara Sand, chuckling. She stood tall, her broad shoulders well muscled and her wry smile showing amusement. She wore only a short pair of pants, sandals, and her small breasts were bound up with cotton sackcloth. She pointed in Jon’s general direction with her spear, and gestured as some of the other Sand Snakes made their appearance.

“Nymeria, Tyene, why don’t you help our friend Jon Snow into something better suited to the climate?” she said, holding back a laugh. 

Nymeria licked her lips, a barely noticeable gesture, while Tyene laughed out loud. 

Jon backed up as the two Sand Snakes approached him, anxious at the sight of the two women. Nymeria was almost as naked as her older sister, while Tyene, ghostly pale, wore a shroud of fabric around her head and a long, tight one piece made of cotton. Both had their weapons of choice on them, Nymeria’s whip and Tyene’s daggers, although neither had theirs at the ready. 

Meanwhile, Jon was unarmed, he put up his hands in a defensive gesture, but Nymeria simply grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him so that she and Tyene could lead him into a shed full of training gear and clothes.

“Let’s get these off of you,” said Tyene, innocently, unfastening Jon’s leather jerkin, while Nymeria pulled off his boots. 

“My ladies, I can dress myself,” he stated, finishing taking off his shirt for them. His cheeks were red with color, and he felt a warmth creeping up his body that was not caused by the weather. 

“You won’t be able to spread this everywhere yourself, though,” stated Nymeria, holding up a vial. Tyene took it from her and poured some out onto her hands, and Jon was momentarily distracted by the feeling of oil being massaged into his back and shoulders.

He groaned at the sensation, Tyene’s hands spreading the oil and then kneading into his muscles, loosening some knots. She moved from his back to his his arms and neck, and then began oiling up his chest. She kept a fake serious expression the whole time, pretending to ignore how flushed Jon was becoming under her ministrations.

“It will help prevent the sun from damaging your pale northern skin, no burns, and only a few freckles,” said Tyene, finishing up his face and then running a hand innocently over his pectoral. She then delicately dabbed some of the oil onto her own cheeks, as if to demonstrate.

“Useful,” admitted Jon, until he felt Nymeria’s hands at his breeches, and he instinctively grabbed her hands to try and stop her.

“Can’t wait to get out of them, either?” asked Nymeria, tugging down Jon’s breeches, exposing the small clothes beneath.

Jon covered himself, blushing so pink that both women stopped laughing. 

“Sorry,” Tyene muttered, finishing with applying the oil to herself and then handing Jon his own vial of the stuff. “Rub into to any exposed skin every time we take a break,” she instructed.

“Here’s some better clothes for training,” said Nymeria, handing Jon a loose pair of pants, a shirt, a pair of sandals, and a sword belt. 

The two Sand Snakes left Jon alone to change, and when he emerged, they pretended to swoon. 

“Now that’s a proper Prince of Dorne,” said Tyene, waving.

“More like a warrior, ready to conquer,” corrected Nymeria, hands on her hips

Jon ignored them, instead approaching the training weapons. He found a few training swords of the kind he was familiar with, made of wood and steel without edges, and he picked the steel and turned it in his hands. 

“Where’s your master at arms?” he inquired, realizing that he didn’t know who he would be practicing with. 

“I am she,” said Obara, coming forward, picking up a dulled practice spear. She smiled at the rather dumbfounded look on the boy’s face, shaking her head.

“You want to spar, learn how to get past a spear?” she asked, holding up her choice of weapon like a prize. “If you’re protecting your sister here, then you need to know how to fight against the threats you’ll find in Dorne. 

Jon was taken aback, but nodded, prompting the woman to laugh again. “Okay, finish selecting your gear, I’ll be in that practicing ring. Oh, and your sister is late.”

She said the last bit as almost an afterthought, but then Jon realized that he hadn’t seen her all day. Given, it was still early and they broke their fast separately, but all of a sudden the training area seemed to be full of activity. Oberyn was on one side, sparing with spears with a very teary and resentful looking Trystane, but aside from them and one of Oberyn’s guards, he was surrounded by women. 

Not just women, but little girls as well.

The two youngest Sand Snakes were riding small horses, one holding a bow in hand, the other a light practice flail. The others each practiced with their own weapon of choice, Jon observed. He realized that he had been warned that women trained to fight in Dorne, but he didn’t realize the extent of it. He was quite surprised, in fact, to see Tyene, who seemed so delicate compared to the other Sand Snakes, deftly using her knives to slice a practice dummy to bits, shards of cotton and fabric flying from her practice arena.

Jon had to steal himself, get back to gearing up. He looked around at the weapons, not quite sure what he was looking for, until he found a shield, wooden, and clearly meant for him. It was beautiful, a painted direwolf in white running across a gray field. The sight made him stroke the thing in reverence, the reversed Stark colors symbolizing a bastard taking over the household. 

“Afraid, Snow?” called Obara, spinning her spear in her hand where she stood.

Jon picked up the shield and his practice sword, and made his way out to the ring where Obara waited.

He got into his stance, raising his shield and holding out his sword. Jon took a deep breath, unable to believe he was doing this, facing off against a woman. It had been driven into him, over and over, that fighting a woman was dishonorable, that he had to treat them gently. Arya had proved him wrong at this, seeing some of her needle work at King’s Landing. Still, he had never fought a woman before. 

He was still thinking this, frozen, when Obara’s spear hit his shield and sent him falling to the ground, hard. 

“Again?” she asked, a wicked smile forming at the crook of her mouth as she reached down to help him up.

This time, Jon was ready, and he used his new shield to bat away her attack, lunging for Obara with the practice sword. However, the Sand Snake managed to plant her spear in the ground and used the leverage from it to dodge his attack. 

Landing behind him, Jon turned around just fast enough to see Obara land on her feet, only to kick him square in the stomach.

“Again?”

The next several hours consisted of Jon attempting to land a blow on Obara, as she dodged and jumped and thrust her spear. He missed every time, her strength enabling her to hold him back with her spear, while her agility allowed her to dodge his every swing. Each time he would attempt to strike her, and each time he was either knocked to the ground or hit with the blunt headed spear, and Jon knew that he would be covered in bruises at the end of the day, like a boy new at training.

Their only breaks were to take water or food and for Jon to re-apply the oil to his arms and face, glad to have it since he could feel the glare from the bright sun above. 

He hadn’t taken such a beating at training in years, and almost felt like a child in Winterfell again. 

This was a completely different kind of fighting, Jon realized, and so he would have to adapt. 

He watched Obara's feet, not just her spear, but how she slid them along, barely resting her weight on them, ready to jump or dodge at a moment's notice. He had to learn to judge when she was going to move one way or another, and once he figured out how she moved, he knew how to unbalance her.

“Now he gets it,” laughed Obara, as Jon allowed himself to fall backwards to his knees, using his shield to catch her blunt spear, throwing her off so that it was she that landed on the ground with a harsh thud. 

“Well done, now finish me.” she said this on the ground, Jon having jumped back up and standing over her. 

Seeing the conflicted look on his face, she smirked and stood up, leaning on her spear. “You need to get over your chivalry, or you won’t be useful at all at keeping your sister safe. I’ll teach you.”

“Thank you, and I know that you’re right,” he said, taking her hand and shaking it, glad to have her to show him how to fight the Dornish way. 

“You know nothing, Jon Snow.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Arya hid in her room with her wolf, gripping her needle in hand, wishing there was more than just a silk curtain to keep people out of her bedchamber. At least in King’s Landing, she had had her own room with a large oak door with a heavy lock on it. She sat on the floor, facing the doorway, untrusting. She had been like this half the night, only nodding off briefly a couple of times. She hadn’t gotten up for food or water, and her direwolf sat next to her, anxious.

Suddenly, she became aware of a presence, unsure of who or what it was, she stood up, slowly peeking her head around the corner. She slowly crept into the antechamber, Needle raised and at the ready, on the balls of her fight. She didn’t see anyone, but listened closely, turning and checking the Sand Snake’s bedroom, when suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

Her instincts told her to twist around and stab, but the grip was too firm, and suddenly she heard a familiar voice. 

“A girl still must learn to see when she looks.”

“Serio,” she exclaimed, resting her grip and almost hugging him. “You’re here!”

“I am where I am,” he said, letting her go and stepping back, glad to see her again. “But enough about me, have you been practicing?”

At this, Arya looked away, embarrassed. The sailors had said that she got in their way on board the ship, and so Jon had to put needle away to keep her out of trouble, and she had only been in Dorne for a day. 

Her silence was met by a slight frown, and then Serio gestured to the center of the room and said, “very well, please take your stance, at the ready.”

Now it was Arya’s turn to frown, as she felt her stomach growl and her eyes drooped from exhaustion. 

“But I had no supper last night, and haven’t eaten today, or slept!” she exclaimed, not obeying on command like she usually did with her beloved teacher. 

“And who’s fault is that, young wolf? Now, show me your stance, again!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment! If you take issue with what I wrote, I blame not knowing how else to keep their wolves with them. It is too sad, separating them. I want this story to be sick, violent, heart breaking, but not G.R.R.M levels of sadistic
> 
> Please be nice, and comment, and let me know how you feel about this. If you don't like what I wrote, let me know and we can discuss it. More important than anything else, I want to improve as a writer. 
> 
> Thank you!


	5. Aches and oranges and dark drinks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya is trained by Serio, and her roommates bring her a gift.
> 
> Sansa and Eddard Stark scheme

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Late term abortion! Seriously though, this is a chapter that yoyos from touching to super dark. You have been forwarned.
> 
> Please let me know how y'all like it!

Every limb of Arya’s body ached. She had been put through her paces, standing on one leg, fending off attacks, balancing on her hands, and trying to strike Serio for hours on end. 

After hours of work, he merely tutted at her and told her she was rusty. He had then started teaching her to stand on her toes.

“Why would anyone need to know this?” she asked, confused and irritated, as Serio helped her learn to put all of her weight onto the toes of one foot, and then the other. 

“Once, I was fighting at the edge of a cliff, closer and closer to the precipice my foe pushed me. Ten feet, five, two, one, and before I knew it, I was standing on the very points of my toes. But I kept fighting, and I asked my foe, I said ‘do you really think one more inch will be the one that sends me over the edge? Or the next? Or the next one? You’ve fought me for every foot, and haven’t won. So will this last inch really bring you victory?’”

Arya had thought about this while trying to put the center of gravity in her body over her toes, glad to have pants to train in instead of her skirts at Kings Landing. 

After this, she did her normal exercises, and a bit more sparing. By the end of the day, Serio was smiling at her proudly, glad her determination hadn’t wavered. 

“You’re still a pup, but the pup is growing.”

He left her with those words, letting himself out the door. Arya lay on her bed, sore all over and pondering the things which Serio had said. He never quite told her anything straight, but she supposed that he was teaching her to see in other ways, too. 

Arya knew that she would be wanted for dinner, but her exhaustion overcame her and she was unable to move. The ache was familiar, that burn in her muscles that said that she was doing something important. 

The room grew darker and her eyes grew heavy, and despite her aching belly, She fell into a heavy sleep.

Not heavy enough, however, to not be woken up a few hours later. She heard the sound of her roommates, walking through their shared antechamber. However, instead of going straight into their room, she heard them stop in front of hers, and then the sound of a clatter right outside the curtain, and then fading footsteps into their bedroom. 

Arya didn’t move until she was sure they were asleep. She listened carefully, lying still until she heard them getting into their bed, and eventually their breathing evening out into a peaceful rhythm. Only then did Arya venture out, slowly, barely letting her feet touch the ground.

Carefully, she moved aside the curtain, so slowly that it didn’t even rustle. ‘Silent as a shadow,’ she repeated in her mind. 

On the floor of the moonlit room there was a small tray of food. Blood oranges, goat cheese, olives, and flatbread. Nothing spicy or unfamiliar, and her mouth watered at the sight. 

Silently, she lifted the tray and carried it over to a little ottoman in her bedroom and set the tray down, before tearing into the bread like a starving animal. She fed Nymeria bits of cheese and bread, but wolfed down the oranges herself. After a day like she had had, it was the nicest thing she had ever eaten. 

Lying in bed, Arya genuinely smiled for the first time since she had arrived in Dorne. With a full belly and a feeling she could only describe as grateful, Arya fell asleep.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Are you sure, father?” asked Sansa, tearfully. She was in her sixth month with her child, her stomach swollen and her state distressed. The symptoms had been harsh, sick every morning, a symptom which hadn't cleared up, as she was told it would. Her ankles had swollen, her back ached, and her mood constantly downcast and sullen. 

The one upside to her condition was that Joffrey mostly left her alone now, except to show her off in court. She was his, to trot out like a prize broodmare, he had said.

Cersei had been silent, looking on during those times with an indifferent stare which always haunted Sansa. It took her awhile to understand it, but Sansa eventually knew what the queen was feeling. Relief. This was no longer her life. She was no longer a thing to be made use of and shown off, those days were behind her. Now it was the turn of the younger, prettier girl. 

Sansa had tried to keep a straight face on those occasions, but Joffrey had let all of his men feel her up, and not just her belly, but her breasts, swelling larger, and one or two had asked to see her cunt. Joffrey shot that down, but had said that maybe, as a treat, he would let the royal birth be a spectacle in itself. Sansa had prayed to the gods that both she and her child die in those moments.

And that’s why she sat here now, in a small room shown to her by Varies, with her father next to her, with a cup of an inky black liquid.

“Will it work, even though I’m so far along?”

Her father sighed, looking dead eyed at the stone wall, unable to face what he had allowed his daughter to come to.

“Yes, it will. It will be horrible, but it will work. We had to wait this long, so that this… interference would not be suspected. It’s more dangerous now, but if we were suspected, we would be executed for sure. This way, no one will think of moon tea.”

Sansa bit her lip. She had always been taught that such a thing was a heinous crime, but Joffrey was a heinous creature, and the thing that was inside of her needed to die. From the moment she found out, that’s all she had wanted. Her father had insisted, however, that they had to wait, to make it look like an accident.

The idea of being found out scared her more than the pain she would feel in the next several hours. 

It was just before dawn, just enough time to creep back to her chambers and get a bit of sleep while she waited.

“What if they still suspect?” she asked, biting her lip in fear.

Ned took Sansa’s hand, kissing it tenderly, and looking his daughter straight in the eye. “You’re going to need to fall, Sansa. You need to trip and fall down the stairs tomorrow when you feel the first blood coming out. The maesters won’t suspect moon tea, but physical injury. It’s traceless, and you’ve been sick enough to get away with it.”

Sansa wept, nodding quietly as her father cradled her head in his big hands and petting the back of her head. 

“What if he still wants me after?” she sobbed, afraid of this not being the end.

“We make sure it never gets this far along again, make them think it's you. Sansa, you will be viewed as barren, and the marriage can be annulled. Then, you can go back to Winterfell. No husband, no future suitors, just home.”

Sansa kept weeping, until there were no more tears in her eyes. Ned let her, occasionally stroking her red locks. 

“What will mother think?” she almost squeaked, sitting up and taking the cup in her shaking hands.

“Lady Catelyn… doesn’t see how things are, my sweet. This may in fact spare her feelings. She’ll go on knowing that she did what she could for you,” he told her, looking at her earnestly. “She will never know.”

Sansa nodded, numbly, and then, with trembling hands, drank and emptied the cup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Do comment and ask questions. I will response to any inquiries any reader has about the plot or characters, while trying to keep it spoiler free.


	6. Naked Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and John Snow are both taught about their bodies by different Sand Snakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive my smut. So first of all, I like teaching sex as a genre, okay? Just the whole idea of someone more experienced teaching someone less so how to have good sex I find hot. Don't know why, just find it less boring than normal vanilla. 
> 
> Also, Arya is like, fourteen in this story, for the record. She's basically going through puberty at this point, and so have the girls she shares a room with. Wanted to make that clear, that she's not a little kid like how it starts off in the books or the show. This story uses a similar timeline as the books, Sansa eleven at her engagement to Joffrey and Arya nine, but by the time of Arya's betrothal here, she's fourteen. So some time has definitely passed.

Days wore on and Jon Snow practiced each morning, slowly learning how to step more lightly, to watch his opponent in ways he never had to before. In the north, people fought more directly, hacking and slashing with battle axes and clamors. Here in Dorne, they would spin and jump, dodging with speeds he had never seen. 

“You can’t wear armor like that down here, unless you want sunstroke. So instead we move faster, never letting a foe land a strike,” explained Obara, when Jon had asked why she wore so little to train. This made sense, and so he supposed the opposite was true of the north. Obara had laughed at his conclusion, but slapped his back and snorted with glee, declaring him a fast learner.

In fighting, that he was. Jon learned with light, straight swords, as well as scimitars, curved swords made for quick movements. He learned to make two swords sing as one, like Tyene with her daggers. 

Jon Snow also fought the other Sand Snakes, Nymeria with her whip, which he learned to dodge and how to catch with his long sword, and Tyene with his scimitars. 

It was a fast, difficult style of fighting. Even as he learned more and more each day, he got beaten up more often than not. 

After two weeks, he had thought that he couldn’t get any more bruised, but then came learning to ride in the Dornish style, and so he relearned the meaning of ‘saddle sores.’

“Does our Lord Snow miss his sweet comforts of the North?” asked Obara, seeing the way he winced after getting out of the saddle.

“Sisters, help him,” she said, nodding to Tyene and Nymeria, who eyed him hungrily. Ghost had padded alongside him, watching eagerly as Jon was helped by the two Sand Snakes. The shaven wolf was quite happy with his new environment, and followed his sore master into the shed in his quiet manner.

“Come on, let’s get you out of these,” teased Tyene, leading him back into the shed where they helped him onto a bench, Jon whining at the contact. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, adjusting how he sat. 

Nymeria started to unfastion his breeches, but he stopped her hands with his, embarrassed.

“We need to see,” said Nymeria, pulling his hands away, while Tyene finished undressing him from the waist down. “Might lead to infection.”

He sat there naked on the bench, trying to cover his manhood, blushing and shy in front of them.

Tyene coaxed him to spread his legs, and she noted how the hours of riding had basically rubbed away the outer layers of skin, leaving him chaffed raw.

She opened a cabinet, the one she had produced the sun oil from, and searched momentarily while Nymeria rubbed Jon’s shoulders, trying to calm him down. Upon finding what she was looking for, she exclaimed, “Aha! Aloe mixed with mint. Knew I still had some from when Loreza was still learning to ride.”

She held out the small vile and uncorked it, and the smell of mint filled the small room. “It'll feel cold, but will help ease the burn,” she told Jon Snow, coating her fingers. 

Jon tried to pull away as she settled between his legs, hissing at the first contact of the cold, oily substance. However, after a moment he sighed in relief as Tyene rubbed the lotion into his thighs, the soothing aloe and cold mint soothing his irritated flesh. It felt so good, that he didn’t even protest as Tyene proceeded to rub some of the lotion onto his balls and taint. He even spread his legs wider for her to get at the area despite himself. 

“You’re like a blushing maid,” teased Nymeria, petting Jon’s hair and Ghost’s head at the same time.

Jon Snow closed his eyes at this, cringing, and both Sand Snakes gave each other knowing looks. 

Once he was dressed again, sitting on the bench and drinking some water, Nymeria got down on her knees to look Jon in the eye, tenderly.

“Are you still a virgin, Jon Snow?” she asked, carefully, as if trying not to scare off a frightened animal.

Jon just nodded, looking away shyly.

“Why is that?” asked Tyene, giggling despite herself.

Jon paused for a moment, but then answered quietly, trying to avoid eye contact. “Because I never wanted to father a bastard, and because it would be a slight on my honor.”

Both women looked at each other, Nymeria looking sad for his sake, Tyene merely confused.

“It’s not a slight on your honor here in Dorne, Jon. In fact, men and women alike are celebrated for their prowess in the bedchambers here.”

“As far as fathering a bastard goes, you do realize that we’re bastards, and we’re not hated like in your north. Our father’s paramour is a bastard, and she’s a wife all but in name.”

Jon Snow listened to them, his face red hot from embarrassment and the closeness. The two women were still in their training attire, which left little to the imagination. 

“I know, but my family would think ill of me,” he said, seemingly feeling guilty at just the thought, picturing Catelyn’s judgmental eyes.

Nymeria stood up and looked at Jon Snow sympathetically, and gently touched his warm cheek. 

“Then they’re not much of a family, hating you for pleasure,” she held his eyes for a moment, smiling sweetly. She then leaned down and kissed his lips, softly, and Jon’s breath caught in his throat. 

“You deserve to feel good, Jon Snow. As much as any true born. Please, let us teach you,” she whispered, and Jon couldn’t believe he was suddenly nodding his head, wanting this. Wanting more of her sweet lips and these feelings she was giving him.

“We will come to your chambers in a few nights time, since you’re a bit too rubbed raw at the moment for any of that,” said Tyene, and before Jon could manage to ask what she meant by ‘we,’ she had flicked his sore thigh painfully, and she and Nymeria left, hand in hand, Jon Snow tearily starring after them. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Arya squirmed uncomfortably in her small clothes, talking to her chamber mates with an unusual amount of self consciousness. She was sitting on her bed, naked from the waist down, trying to figure out what to do about this problem. Arya had told them that she had found herself becoming wet ‘down there,’ at times, even waking up this way. 

“That’s good, means you’re soon to have your first blood,” said Elia, in a way that said she was bored with this conversation already. 

Arya knew this, but didn’t want it to be happening. She had seen Sansa go through her changes, and didn’t like the way men treated her differently after. Everyone had, really, her being more than just a pretty little girl after, but a young lady. Honestly, Arya had been rather indifferent to most of her body changes until her betrothal. She had gotten a bit taller, her feet getting a bit bigger, and had sprouted hair in her arm pits and at her crotch. 

Aside from being a bit itchy and having to wash more often, Arya hadn’t cared before. 

“How do I stop it,” she asked, holding up her small clothes and showing the slick that coated her thighs, looking at them as if irritated. 

“There’s herbs, but why would you want to?” asked Obella, more concerned for Arya than Elia seemed to be, but still somewhat confused about what the problem was. 

“Because I don’t want to have babies,” Arya said, stating the first thing to pop into her head. “I don’t want to bleed, or be bedded, or to marry your stupid cousin. 

Arya had been spending lots of time with these two girls, and had even trained with them, Serio having wanted for her to have new sparring partners for quite some time. Since the night that they had left the tray of food for her, she had made more of an effort to be friendly towards them. The girls had been kind to her, after all. As the first week became the second, politeness and formality had turned into genuine fondness. 

They had compared weapons and styles, chasing each other for hours on end around the training arenas with dulled training weapons. Elia had started teaching Arya how to ride in the Dornish style, which she was markedly better at than Jon Snow.

They would stay up all night together talking, whispering about the news in Sunspear. Arya found that she liked these talks, listening to the two sisters as she stroked Nymeria’s short fur fondly. It wasn’t all boys and clothes, although sometimes it was, but Arya didn’t usually mind, since it was a good mix. More often than not it was about news from sailors coming into market, or their father’s interest in fine horse flesh, or what types of training were coming up and if there were to be races or tourneys before the winter properly came on. 

Arya had shown them how to hunt with hawks, her merlin Small Claw having taken to the desert jack rabbits and snakes immediately. It pleased the girls to go out riding after a morning of training, wrapped in long shawls to protect them from the sun, and to come back just before dinner with rabbits and snakes for the kitchen to cook up. Jon would ride along for this, dutifully, along with another guard of Sunspear, proud of his sister and glad to see her with friends.

They had even taken Arya and Jon out to the local town surrounding Sunspear, showing her the bazaars and markets. The night sky was illuminated with lanterns and torches, and acrobats and snake charmers performed between food stands selling stuffed grape leaves or strange sweets or sausages or roasted snake on a stick. Stalls selling silks, strange animals or fruits, weapons, potions, jewelry, flowers (an expensive rarity in Dorne), spices, intricately carved chests, and even one seller trying to pawn off painted rocks as dragon eggs all crammed together on the streets and town squares into a cacophonous market that went on and on. Despite the chaos this had been fun, except that Arya often had to tell off strangers who wanted to buy Nymeria and Ghost off her and Jon. 

These two weeks had brought her close to these girls, despite her still hating the situation. They respected her privacy and shared her opinion of their cousin, and so after another sleepless night of heat pooling between her legs, she had trusted them enough to go to them for help.

And now they had confirmed her worst fears. She didn’t like that this was happening, that soon she would be flowering. This was more bothersome than embarrassing, but still a serious problem for her.

“Okay,” said Elia, rolling her eyes as if done with everything to do with the situation. “Babies are a bother, anyway, and our putrid cousin isn’t getting any from you.”

“We’ll talk to our sister Ty. She’ll know what to give you,” said Obella, firmly, reassuring Arya that they were on her side. 

Arya dropped her small clothes and stood up, unsure how to thank them properly. However, she was suddenly enveloped in a huge hug, which she accepted. These girls were her friends after all. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jon Snow lay in bed, silently, awake and tense in thought. Tyene and Nymeria had been especially flirtatious this day, which was a lot for them, and he assumed that tonight they would come into his room.

He was correct, as he heard the large oaken door swing open on its hinges, and two pairs of feet walking softly along the floor.

“Jon Snow,” whispered Nymeria, slinking along the bed, crawling up behind Jon to wrap him in her arms. His body tensed, but he felt her warm embrace and wanted to let out a deep sigh. It felt so good, and he was tempted to turn around and kiss her on the lips. Then, he felt Tyene crawling on top of him, and he felt frozen in place.

“What are you two doing here?” he asked, stupidly, looking back and forth between the viper eyes of the two Sand Snakes. It was true, they did have their father’s viper eyes, despite Nymeria’s deep brown and Tyene’s bright green. Something about them was sharp, poisonous. 

“You,” whispered Tyene, leaning down and catching Jon Snow’s lips, biting down gently. 

Jon moaned despite himself, leaning up into the kiss. He felt himself growing a bit harder, the feel and touch of the women arousing something in him that he was taught was dishonorable, shameful. 

Nymeria started to pull off Jon’s small clothes, leaning in and biting his neck, eliciting a desperate moan out of him.

“Oh gods,” he muttered, his hardening member free to the night air, touched by the cold satin. 

“Praise them indeed, for they invented pleasure,” whispered Nymeria, searching and finding one of Jon’s nipples, and then the other, squeezing gently and tugging, causing Jon’s breath to hitch. 

“Sensitive? Oh that’s fun,” she said sweetly, before nodding to Tyene, who straddled and kissed Jon intently, him putty in her hands.

Tyene pulled away and, rather businesslike, reached down and ran her fingers over Jon’s aching member. He had become hard rather quickly, and it took only a few quick tugs of her clever fingers to bring Jon off, with lots of pants and groans from the man under her.

“Well that’s done,” she said, holding up her hand and licking the seed off of her fingers like it was nothing. “Now you can actually last with us and properly enjoy.”

Jon looked up at her helplessly, thinking himself spent. But she didn’t move from where she straddled him, and Nymeria had started kissing up his neck. It felt so good, her wet mouth trailing along and occasionally biting.

He wanted them, he realized to his shame. Jon wanted to fuck these women, to do with them whatever they wanted, and that scared him. His honor was tarnished, and the fact that they were sisters… awakened something in him. The way that they worked off of each other, practically the same age and knowing each other from infancy, led to a dynamic he found strangely enticing. It wasn’t right, however. Incest was a horrible sin, even if he were in the center of their attentions.

“You’re sisters,” he said, quietly, breaking a passionate kiss with Tyene.

“Well, we’re certainly not brothers,” giggled the woman on top of him, grinning.

“Incest is”-”not a problem unless it’s forced or results in children, which Tyene and I cannot do together, unless you’re so repressed in the north that you were under the assumption that two women can bring forth offspring?”

Jon shut up at that, not only due to the response, but because he suddenly felt Tyene’s wet sex against his thigh. Tyene was grinding on him, moaning and slowly lifting the white linen shift she wore, pulling it over her head and revealing her small breasts, her blond hair falling around them. 

Nymeria quickly followed, her chest much larger, her dark nipples standing out against her rich amber skin. “Do you want this?” she whispered, nuzzling Jon’s shoulders

“Yes,” he whispered, staring straight ahead, giving up on trying to act noble. He knew that his honor wouldn’t win out here, and why pretend otherwise? Not with Nymeria biting along his neck, searching for all of the places that would make him groan. 

Tyene continued grinding on his thigh, the feeling of her warm wet sex starting to cause him to harden again. 

Nymeria noticed this, giving Tyene a playful shove and straddling Jon Snow’s chest, grabbing his hands, which had previously been gripping at the sheets, and pulling them to her waist, then up to cup her large breasts.

“Here, let me show you,” she said, having him squeeze one dark nipple and smiling as Jon starting to knead and fondle them on his own. He leaned up then, taking one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently while continuing to pinch the other. Her nipples were hard as Jon moved up her neck with his mouth, nipping playfully at her shoulder.

“Oh, now he’s interested," teased Tyene, bending forward around her sister and nipping at Jon’s neck, causing him to almost fall back in surprise.

“Such an easily startled pup, this wolf,” laughed Nymeria, taking hold of Jon’s jaw and kissing him harshly on the mouth. 

Jon let her tongue in his mouth, and he breathed in as their tongues danced. He never thought this would feel so good. Tyene was grinding on his leg, guiding one of his hands to her breast, his other hand tracing along Nymeria’s back. 

“Feel me,” whispered Nymeria, taking the hand that had been cupping Tyene’s breast and pulling it toward her sex. She smiled as his fingers ran across her clit, and then she guided one finger inside, sighing at the feel. “Yes.”

She was burning hot inside, Jon found, and wet. He carefully pushed his finger in and out, and then crooked it, eliciting gasps from her. 

Meanwhile, Tyene was crawling up along Jon’s body, sinking her teeth into his shoulder, which he arched up into. 

Nymeria took his hand and showed him where to touch her, how she liked it.

“The pup learns quickly,” she mused, tussling Jon’s wet hair and trailing a finger down his abs. He was hard again, his manhood thick and aching, the purple head peeking out of the foreskin. 

“Indeed,” teased Tyene, who backed up off of him and lowered herself so that her face was inches from his hard cock. “May I?” she asked in all fake innocence, fluttering her lashes at him.

Jon bit his lip and nodded, deciding to see through any acts that wouldn’t bring forth bastards. 

Tyene licked a stripe up the underside of his cock, and then sucked the head into her mouth.

“Ty, oh gods,” whispered Jon, his hands stilling inside of Nymeria, who slowly pulled his finger out and bent down near where her sister’s head was.

“Remember sister, hold the base,” she said, squeezing the base of Jon’s cock with her hand as her sister started to take him into her mouth. 

Jon bit his lips, trying to breathe, his brow arched as he focused on the new sensation. He had never felt anything so nice, Tyene looking up at him with her viper eyes as she went down all the way so that his hairs brushed her lips. 

“Please, yes…” he moaned, grimacing as Nymeria squeezed the base of his cock to keep him from coming. 

“Not yet,” she said, holding him tight and pulling her sister up by her blonde hair. She kissed Tyene on the mouth, wet and filthy, and then looked at Jon as if thinking of what to do with him next. 

“Turn over,” she commanded, sweet and stately, rolling over herself onto her back. 

Jon obeyed, curious now as to what she wanted, eyes going wide as she spread her legs and Tyene started to go down on her. “You need to know how to pleasure a woman, Jon Snow. Let’s show him, Ty.”

Tyene smiled wickedly, eager to satisfy, crawling down her sister’s body and starting right at her pelvic bone, kissing down through Nymeria’s short, dark curly hairs.

“You see, you want to tease first, draw things out so that your partner yearns for it. Then, when you have them in the palm of your hand, you go in for the kill,” and with that Tyene went from nipping around Nymeria’s thighs and lightly fingering her to going straight for her clit, gently biting down and licking with intent. She then went lower, continuing to rub at Nymeria’s swollen bud while sticking her tongue inside of her sister. 

Jon watched the sisters with lust, desperate to touch them, but also amazed at just how nice it was to watch. Nymeria with her hands on the back of Tyene’s head, and Tyene, lapping lustfully, like she would never get enough.

“Yes, oh gods, yes, Tyene, oh sweet sister... “ Nymeria was shaking, trying to hold off, but Tyene stuck two fingers into her and thrust them right where she liked it, bringing her tongue back to her clit. “Fuck!” she cried, rising off the bed as she came, wrapping her legs around Tyene’s head, who kept licking her through it. 

Jon Snow was jerking off at this point, much to his shame, his pink cheeks and sweaty brow revealing his embarrassment. 

Suddenly, a hand reached out and stopped him, grasping his hand gently and pulling it away from his aching member. 

“Wait,” whispered, Nymeria, sitting back up, catching her breath. Jon looked at her, the bliss on her face, and wanted to have her there and then. Yet he was still bothered by something, and he broke off her gaze after a moment, ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” he said, sadly. His glumness was something he was often teased for in Sunspear, and both Sand Snakes chuckled, knowingly.

“Still afraid?” asked Tyene, quirking a brow.

Jon didn’t answer, merely looking away.

“Do you trust us, Jon Snow?” asked Nymeria, still holding his hand in hers, ever gentle. 

“I… Yes,” he said, knowing it was true.

“Then trust us. We know that you don’t want to father a bastard, so you won’t. We drink herbs from Essos that prevent such things. Not moon tea,” stated Nymeria quickly, seeing the horror on Jon Snow’s face. “Both of us have lain with boys and girls since we were fourteen, and we have never been with child.”

“So I won’t”-”No,” stated Tyene, assertively. 

Jon relaxed at this, so wanting, and finally allowing himself to think that maybe he could…

“On your back, Jon Snow,” urged Nymeria, sitting up on her haunches. Jon rolled over again, bracing his arms against the mattress. Nymeria straddled him, taking his manhood in her hand. 

“Tyene,” she said, grasping her sister’s hand in hers and urging her to gently squeeze Jon’s aching balls. She then spread her legs and teased her own entrance with the head of his cock, before starting to sink down onto it. “Oh Jon” she gasped, quietly, taking all of him in slowly, until she felt his balls and her sister’s delicate hand touching her thighs. 

Jon gasped, closing his eyes tightly in concentrated pleasure. She felt so good, and he just wanted to take her, but she just sat there, still. 

“Open your eyes,” she said, and Jon opened them, seeing Nymeria’s gaze, unusually soft, and beautiful. She then rose and fell, enjoying the fullness and feeling of having Jon Snow deep within her. She smiled sensually down at him, looking deeply into those sad eyes which always seemed half downcast. Then, she let out a gasp, throwing back her head as Tyene bit at her neck and shoulders. 

Tyene’s other hand pressed down on Jon’s shoulder as he tried to move a little faster, and he whined in frustration, needy. “Slowly,” she told him, running her hand down his chest, pressing down on his thigh to indicate that he should take it slow.

Jon Snow breathed deeply, wanting more, but frustrated about Tyene’s tight grasp of his balls, until he realized it was to help him last. They are training me, he realized, so that when there’s someone I love, it can be good for them. 

This caused his breath to hitch, realizing how these two women were taking care of him. They weren’t just using him, or claiming him, but helping him. He slowed a bit, trying to thrust deeper, experimenting, liking the way that certain movements caused different reactions. The view was beautiful, Tyene teasing Nymeria’s breasts with her tongue, and Jon reached out to cup one of them, squeezing and flicking the pert, dark nipple. 

“Oh yes, now he’s getting it,” teased Nymeria with a smile, speeding up just a little. 

Jon reached out with his other hand, bringing it up Nymeria’s thighs, to where the two of them joined, exploring briefly before finding the nub that drove her oh so crazy. 

Nymeria gasped and curled her toes, desperate, deciding to draw this out no longer. “Now, Tyene,” she said, and the blonde woman released Jon’s balls, removing her other hand as well, letting Jon set the speed. Nymeria sped up, holding Jon Snow’s gaze as she rose and fell, holding one of his hands as the other rubbed at her clit fervidly. 

“Yes,” she whined, eager and yearning, losing herself to the feelings overcoming her entire body. “Yes, let go, it’s okay. Come.”

At that, Jon moaned loudly as he arched off of the bed, feeling Nymeria’s walls clenching around him. He kept thrusting, his release so strong, his hips lifted off the bed as he came deep inside of her. It was a golden feeling, all light and overwhelming as he let himself go over the edge, coming back down lightly.

He then fell back, panting, looking up at Nymeria with amazement and bliss at what had just happened. 

Nymeria got up off of him and curled up next to him, quite out of breath. The sound of their panting filled the room, and the warmth between them was sweet and familiar. For a moment, it felt like just the two of them, until Tyene lay down on the other side of Jon, wrapping herself around him like a snake. 

“That was splendid,” whispered Nymeria, kissing Jon gently on the lips. “But if you think that you’re going to sleep without getting my sister off, then you know nothing, Jon Snow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, hope y'all like this. Please comment, let me know what to fix, where to improve, and to just plain ol' ask questions. I will answer questions personally, unless it would involve spoilers.
> 
> Thank you everyonen!


	7. Finding Cats When Searching For Dogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya misses warging, and so sneaks out to learn more about the towns surrounding Sunspeear with Nymeria. Here, she sees a different side to the city, and is surprised by who she finds there.
> 
> Jon Snow receives a letter from Robb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this might be my longest chapter yet. I tend to be inconsistent with length. I want to ask you, my readers, if you think I should go back and fill in more details about scenery and character feelings, or at least correct grammar and spelling errors. If not, let me know and why. I want to hear from you. 
> 
> I also want to introduce the idea of Jon being attracted to his brother slowly, as a thing that he has deeply suppressed for quite a long time and so kinda a slow build.
> 
> I realize that the plot is coming along slowly, but I like slow stories that really take their time in character and world building, so that's what I tend to write. Unless I'm writing porn.

Arya sullenly starred at Nymeria, unhappy with the state she was currently in. Nymeria was being shaven again, holding still at her command in the hot mid-afternoon. Arya sat with her while Ellaria took the razor blade to her once beautiful coat, and she felt somehow very much like the wolf herself. 

Pampered, bribed with something she liked to lawl her into submission, a strange foreign beast that had to be shaped to her new home. Things had been good recently, but seeing this done to her wolf once again had reminded her of the loss of power she had had in King’s Landing as a pack leader among the strays. There, the dogs obeyed her as their lead wolf, and she could command them and make them hers. There may have been more direct threats to who she was in King’s Landing, but she also had more power. She was learning more than just how to fight, but how to lead. 

Riding inside of Nymeria, she had learned which dogs to challenge and which to prop up, when to doll out rewards and when to withhold them, when to attack and when to retreat. It was different than learning to fight, because she had to treat each dog like another hand, which she had to control without really being in control of. If one disobeyed her, she had to punish it, put it back in line. She had to learn how to get a bunch of mangy street dogs to operate like one creature, with her as the head.

All that had been for not, those dogs all off on their own again. There wasn’t even a god’s wood for her to retreat to, here. Where could she practice her skin changing here? 

“You’re bothered by something,” stated Elleria, running the sharp razor down Nymeria’s legs, careful to not go too close to the skin, leaving a layer of fur to protect the wolf from the sun. A delicate balance indeed.

Arya just huffed, not sure how to answer. 

“I know it’s more than the shearing, little one. Now why don’t you tell me?” she said, not looking away from her work.

Arya thought about her answer carefully, biting her lip before answering. “I just miss some of my friends from King’s Landing.” She figured this was a simple enough answer, and close to the truth.

“Is that right? What sort of friends?” asked Ellaria, picking up Nymeria’s other front leg and beginning to delicately trace down its length.

“Um… they lived in Flea Bottom,” she said, before realizing this was a terrible mistake to reveal. 

“Doesn’t sound like part of the palace. What were you doing in such a place?”

“I was… exploring. Every evening I would sneak out, go explore and meet new people, get to know the city. My friends there were… rough, and low born. The lowest, really. But I, I was able to lead them, somewhat, and make their situation better. We explored and played and spied and caught rats, and we organized. It was amazing, having friends who looked up to me, depended on me, and made me feel needed, instead of just…” Arya was beginning to tear up, sitting there on the bed and watching as Ellaria put down the razor and turned to hug her. She allowed it, finding herself unable to keep from crying.

“We’re not just placating you, Arya,” said Ellaria, holding her tight.

Arya didn’t answer, just staring past her head at some point fixed in the distance.

“You are here because you have the chance to actually lead here, and what you’re talking about is still a real possibility. Look, I know that you wish that you still had whatever it was you lost, so why don’t you take some time in the evenings to explore the towns and bazaars on your own? Don’t get into too much trouble, and no stealing,” Arya realized that Ellaria must have caught on that that was happening too, with her ‘friends.’ “You should build alliances with those in this household, and those outside. There’s one alliance we all wish you would attempt, but we know that you won’t, not yet. Still, go out and learn to lead and organize whatever street rats you run across, like that spy Varies and his ‘little birds.’”

Arya wanted to laugh, since Ellaria clearly had the wrong idea of what she meant. However, she wasn’t about to correct her on the specifics, since she knew not to disclose her warging in Nymeria. 

She simply lowered her eyes and nodded, glad to have sympathy, despite the communication bridge.

“Now, I need to finish shaving this wolf, and you should get cleaned up for dinner.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After dinner and everyone else went to sleep, Arya crept out the window of her room. As it was on the ground floor, it was quite easy, Nymeria padding after her. Around the wolf’s neck was a leather strap with a bronze plate, painted with the sigil of House Martell. At first, Arya had hated the idea of Nymeria wearing a collar. But since the merchants in the bazaar wouldn’t stop asking to purchase her, it was better to mark Nymeria as a property of Sunspear and the Martell’s. No one would steal from them. 

The sandstone was cold under Arya’s bare feet, and she regretted not putting on shoes. She had managed to grab her cloak and Needle, and a purse, her father sending her a small allowance since her betrothal, which she had to admit was a nice upside. Still, she slunk quietly behind bushes and around columns and fountains, avoiding the gaze of guards with her silent footsteps.

Arya snuck from one column to the next as she and Nymeria approached the wall of Sunspear, not so great as the walls surrounding Winterfell, but solid, five foot tall blocks of sandstone topped with spikes that reached twenty feet in the air, yet had not even enough space between them to fit a single finger. They were impossible to climb over, with the only entrances being the occasional gate composed of intricate locks and curved patterns of metal one could neither pick, nor squeeze through. The tops of these gates were also adorned with spikes, so even if one could find footholds, it was impossible to get over the top without being impaled.

Arya despaired at the sight of these walls, knowing that they wouldn’t open again until dawn. Then merchants and officials, commoners with their complaints, soldiers, squires, princes from other highborn houses of Dorne, and any number of others would be allowed through the gates. She could slip out then, but that would involve missing a dancing lesson. 

She stared at the blank wall, mad at it, like it was the fault of the stone that she was trapped inside this palace with no way out. Her thoughts were interrupted, however, when she heard a growl from Nymeria. She looked up, only to spot a cat slinking along on top of the sand stone. She grabbed at Nymeria’s scruff, missing due to the fur being so short, and Nymeria slipped from her grasp.

The cat hissed, jumping down from the wall and taking off running through the bushes and around the trees of the outermost yards of Sunspear. Nymeria took off after the cat, Arya tripping over herself trying to catch her. But the direwolf was too fast. She could barely keep up, getting scratched up on bushes and branches as she went. 

Then, the direwolf came to a stop, after leading her to an area far in back of the outermost yard, surrounded by sago palms and tall grass, it was like the wolf lost the scent. Arya threw her arms around her wolf’s neck, but Nymeria kept searching, nose to the ground.

“You need to behave, can’t take off like that,” she said, walking alongside her wolf, keeping her held tight. Suddenly, Arya noticed an area of the wall covered by a particularly large sago, but it appeared to block something off. She let go of Nymeria to pull the branches out of the way, only to find a large hole, right in the outer wall of the castle.

“So that’s how it got in,” she muttered, knowing that even a cat couldn’t squeeze past the spikes atop the walls of Sunspear.

She got down on her hands and knees, easily crawling through the hole. Nymeria sniffed around the entrance somewhat, but came when Arya beckoned. They were out! She could go exploring without Jon or her new friends, not that she minded them, but she wanted to get a sense of what Sunspear and the surrounding towns were really like. 

After walking along the length of the walls back to the front gate, she took a sideways path a good way out before actually stepping onto the main road, not wanting to be spotted by one of Sunspear’s many guards. Once on the road, she simply followed the way she would go with the Sand Snakes and Jon, until she reached the red lantern light of the first couple of stands at the entrance to the town

First was a sausage seller, from whom Arya bought a string of sweet goat sausages to share with Nymeria. The food in Dorne was starting to grow on her, nothing ever tasting quite like she expected it should based on appearances. She had assumed that what they called watermelon would be full of water, and when that wasn’t the case, assumed it would taste a lot like an apple because of its seeds. It tasted like watermelon, so nothing like what she was used to. 

They walked along, Arya nibbling on the end of a sausage and handing them off whole to her direwolf, more stalls and houses popping up on all sides until they were in the main bazaar. Except that this wasn’t where Arya wanted to be. She wanted to find the back ways, to locate the stray dogs and whore houses and all the little, hidden things for this city to open up. So, she turned away from the familiar glow of lanterns and shops, not wanting to have another discussion of how many fake dragon eggs Nymeria was worth to her again. She wouldn’t trade her wolf for real dragons, frankly.

Instead, she turned down one dark street, and then another, her wolf padding along silently. The houses were sandstone with weaved sticks as thatches over the windows, no light in any of them. It was quiet as she headed from the center of town, and she had to remind herself to step lightly. She wasn’t completely sure where she was going, merely wanting to find where most stray dogs were, probably in some poorer area where garbage was dumped or the dead were collected. She just wanted to get back to warging and leading, even though she didn’t know where she would hide while warging in Sunspear. Maybe she would find somewhere in town to hide while she rode inside of Nymeria, feeling her feelings and sharing control of a magnificent body. 

She started to notice that the houses were getting smaller, from two or three stories to one story, and then to tents and lean tos, and so she turned down a side street, not wanting to get lost, figuring this street must go back around to the center of town. She noticed a lamp in a window, or the silhouette of one, at least. It was an oil lamp, sitting on a windowsill behind a curtain of thin paper. Arya noticed one of these at the next house, only the paper was red, and the next blue. She also noticed more people about the further she went, women standing in doorways, and a few men, even, and people coming in and out of the houses. Among the people walking about on this wide street, Arya spotted a young girl selling wine from a jug she carried on her back. 

Arya walked up to this girl and bought a cup, and asked if this was the silk road of Sunspear.

“You mean the street of lighted windows?” asked the girl, seeing confusion on Arya’s face. “It’s where whores are, and where I sell wine while my brother works.” She then pointed at a house with a lamp behind a window of orange paper, a lithe young man standing naked in the doorway. 

Arya thanked her, drained the cup, and paid her four coppers for the wine. She asked where stray dogs were, only for the girl to laugh, and tell her that there were mostly only cats. 

Arya walked away upon hearing this, sullen, unsure of where to go from there. What the girl said was confirmed when Arya saw an ally full of cats, climbing and digging through piles of garbage. In King's Landing, at least in the city streets, there were dogs and cats alike. But here only cats. It was useless for her. Well, maybe not completely useless, she thought, at least she knew where the whore houses were. Nymeria had liked getting pets and treats from the women of pleasure before coming to Dorne, and it was interesting to see people, some high up, come and go from the silk street of King’s Landing. 

She figured it was time to head back, when she saw a group of tents in a small, open square. The tents and connecting houses seemed darker than elsewhere in the town, despite there being lit lamps there, and Arya felt a strange pull toward them. 

As she approached, Arya realized that this wasn’t the main bazaar, seeing that it wasn’t the town square, and all of the lamps emitted a strange, blue light, as if the place had to keep things somewhat in the dark.

She approached one tent but backed up upon seeing an angry looking, hairy man with broad shoulders and a squat face carving up what looked like whole whale ribs on a giant cutting board with a huge clever. He looked Ibbenese, she thought, as she approached a different tent, checking to see that Nymeria followed closely. 

It was times like these she was glad that Nymeria was made to wear a collar with the Martell sigil. 

The second tent had a middle aged, ashy looking man selling jars, each of which contained a different type of beetle. One was as blue as the sky, another red with black stripes, one with a long snout and the coloring of a giraffe, and another with a shell that looked exactly like a sapphire. She starred for a moment, enthralled by the jeweled things, until she saw mist emanating from the next stall. 

It was filled with cauldrons, bubbling and hissing, and once again she backed up nervously, the scents seeming enticing, yet there was a hint of something menacing underneath. It was as if Arya was smelling death itself, she realized, watching the smoky and streaming tendrils clawing through the night air from the tent. 

She walked between the stalls, seeing many hooded figures, one selling black jewels, one with a caged manticore held out for all to see, and one with what the seller swore were unicorn horns. Arya looked in wonder, thinking that perhaps there were useful things of power here. Maybe not a pack of dogs to control, but a weapon of some kind? 

As she walked through this dimly lit bazaar, she noticed that the further in she went, the larger it appeared. She couldn’t see any of the stalls she had passed by any more as she turned back around, as if the stalls themselves were shifting, or the square were getting larger. Except, the line of tents now led down an alley, and so she walked on, not wanting to admit to herself that she was happy to have Nymeria with her for more than just protection. 

At the next stall, a man who kept his eyes blindfolded was selling rubies that appeared to be bleeding, red liquid seeping from the gems as he held them out, though the gems themselves not losing any color. The next stall featured a eunuch without fingers who made fire dance in his hands. 

Arya shuddered when she saw a goat tied on a table, not wanting to think about why it wore a muzzle, or why the man who stood behind the stall wore thick falconry gloves while handling it.

The endless stalls were starting to genuinely scare her, and she swore that at least once she saw a tent manned by a skeleton standing on its own. But she didn’t stop, she knew that if she turned around, she would get even more lost. 

Eventually, she came upon a small tent tucked into a corner. Somehow, she felt drawn by it, the light from it a warm golden hue compared to the dark bluish light coming from all of the others. It was smaller, too, so that a grown man would have to crouch somewhat in order to not hit his head on the roof, which was made of a large red carpet thrown over support beams. Arya walked inside, quietly, finding that straw crunched under her feet, the only thing separating the dirty ground from the small, dirty cushion on the floor or the crate which served as a table in front of it. 

Arya scrunched her face and looked around, the crate and cushion seemingly the only things inside, until a woman cleared her throat behind her.

“Do you have questions?” asked the young woman with coppery hair and brown eyes. Arya stared at her, quite taken aback, and then looked around the tent again, trying to get her bearings.

“Why’s there a carpet on the roof, and straw on the floor? Shouldn’t it be the other way?” She felt stupid as soon as she asked it, the woman smirking as she slunk behind the crate.

“It’s my only gift from my mother. I’m not putting it on the dirty ground,” she said, simply. 

Arya felt truly stupid then, shaking her head and trying to figure out why this place was so strange. 

“Why are all of the lamps so dim in the market?” she asked, deciding to stand by this question. 

The woman gave her a quizzical look at this, and then smiled, showing that her two front teeth were missing. Arya could see her red tongue pressing against the gap. It made her nervous. 

“Some things are better done in the dark. Also, saves on lamp oil,” she said, simply. 

Arya nodded at this, and the woman sat down on her cushion, not caring about the dirt getting on her grey-green dress. “Why don’t you ask me a question about yourself?” prompted the woman after adjusting her belt and sitting more properly. 

At this Arya didn’t know what to ask, unsure of what she needed to know about herself right now. She bit her lip, and so the woman reached out her hand for Arya’s. Arya gave the woman her hand, and she pulled some strangely shaped pink stones from a pocket, dropping them into her palm.

“Close your palm, shake it, and I’ll tell you what the dice say you need,” said the woman, and Arya obeyed, throwing the dice hard enough to roll, but not so hard that they would fly off the table. 

The woman scrunched her brow as she looked at each di, careful as she read them. It seemed like it wasn’t just the symbols on them that mattered, but also the pattern in which they fell. After a long silence, she finally looked up, meeting Arya’s gray eyes with her dark brown gaze.

“You need allies, little one. You have friends, and good guardians, but you desperately need to use the alliances and power at your hand. You search for hounds, and find ally cats. Young one, use what you have. Use what is offered to you. These alliances will become a wolf pack for you if you but take your claim! There are many who will follow you, love you, and help you, if you but reach out to them,” she said this slowly, pleadingly, as if Arya’s well being truly meant something to her. 

Arya made eye contact with her, holding that brown gaze for one more second, and then reaching into her purse and putting a golden dragon on the table. 

“I have one more question,” she said, before turning to leave. “How do I find my way home?”

At this the woman shook her head, smiling snidely. “This I do not know, but he might.” And she pointed to another tent, where a familiar face was staring at her from across the merchant’s table. It took her a moment to place, because she generally refused to look at him, and he was wearing a plain gray commoner’s tunic, but it was definitely prince Trystane. 

“Hey, you!” she shouted, seeing how the prince was currently trying to sneak a dagger into his sleeve. Suddenly, a guard caught sight of the boy, and swiped to grab at him. Arya dashed out of the tent and across to the next, ducking below the table and tripping the guard before he could apprehend the prince. Trystane dropped the knife as Arya jumped to her feet, and the two of them took off running, the direwolf dashing off ahead. Arya ran after Nymeria, sprinting as fast as her feet could carry her, not caring when her foot caught on something sharp and she could tell that she was now bleeding. 

She did stop when she heard the prince, right behind her, fall down, tripping on some crate or another. She turned and grabbed his hand without thinking, despite the fact that the guard was now gaining on them. She pulled him to his feet and dragged him after her, dodging every obstacle in her way. 

“Run, stupid,” she said, letting go of his hand and going faster, the prince barely keeping up.

“Get back here you kids!” came the voice of the guard, at their necks, it seemed. Prince Trystane thought quickly and kicked a barrel, and a whole stack of wine casks rolled and crashed out into the crowd behind them, Arya turning and laughing at the sight of their pursuer stumbling and tripping as he tried to catch them 

They ran in silence after escaping the bazaar, reaching the main city square and catching sight of Nymeria again. It didn’t matter if they were still being followed or not, the two of them kept running all the way up until they got back to the hole, one crawling through after another.

Once back inside the walls of Sunspear, bloody and covered in dust, Arya and Trystane looked at each other. Prince Trystane scratched the back of his neck, awkwardly, unsure what to say. 

“Won’t tell if you won’t,” said Arya, firmly, breaking the awkward silence. She didn’t fancy the talking to Jon would give her on their father and her mother’s behalf if he found out, even though he had loosened up somewhat lately. 

“Deal,” said the prince, nodding. They both turned and walked off in different directions, unsure of what to make of the night’s events.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jon Snow stayed up late, writing a letter to Robb. He missed his brother, and his new sister in law. It had felt strange, when Robb had married, like something was being taken away from Jon forever. What, he couldn’t quite say, but even though he loved Roslyn to death, part of him was envious of her. That was the only way he could describe it, but it made no sense to him.

He petted Ghost, quietly, then dipped his quill in the ink pot once again and continued his writing. Jon was updating Robb on how things were in Dorne, and how he was happy here but still missed his northern country, missed the snow, and missed him. He mentioned how well Arya was learning to fight, asking that Robb never tell his lady mother, and saying that he hoped that both Robb and Roslyn would visit soon. After sealing the letter, he opened the most recent one from Robb, always preferring to read right before going to sleep. It wasn’t very practical, as it would mean that he would immediately have to write another letter to be sent along with the first, but it soothed him to read what his family had to say right before he went off to sleep.

Unfortunately, this letter contained somber news, he realized quickly, noting how Robb danced a bit around talking about their father’s position in King’s Landing. 

…’It saddens me to say that our sister Sansa has suffered an accident. In the small hours one morning, she fell down the stairs and suffered injury to both herself and the child she carried. She lost the baby-” Jon stopped reading there, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. It was agonizing, but a part of him was slightly relieved. He cursed himself for feeling it, but the fact that Sansa was no longer pregnant with the offspring of the prince felt somehow a blessing. Still, he knew his sister was hurt, and how angry the prince surely was, and how disappointed everyone would be. He didn’t want to think about what she must be going through, but despite this, he read on

…’Sansa is recovering well, and the maesters say that she should still be able to carry children. They hope that she can be pregnant again by year next.” Once again he stopped, horrified. He had met Joffrey, and hated to think of how the prince would treat Sansa after such an incident. He had wanted to tell his Lord father to get Sansa away from him, but knew that it just wasn’t his place. If he were true born, he would have done what Robb had done, backed him up. Then, maybe father may have listened to reason.

Still, he kept reading, and found that the letter got somewhat lighter, Robb, ever the people pleaser, managed to slowly steer the letter away from the bad news and toward the goings on in the North. How the harvest was ample, and Bran was becoming an expert bowman, and that they had finally managed to get Shaggy Dog in line. Finally, Robb brought it all home by talking about his wife

…’You’re going to be an uncle still, Jon. Roslyn is with child, and we hope that if we can get one more crop planted before autumn then we can manage a visit to Dorne with the baby so that you and Arya can meet your niece or nephew right before Winter.’

The thought of a visit filled his heart with joy, but he was worried about the prospect of Winter. He had been a child at the last one, and remembered how hard things were. It had felt colder to him, he realized, with Catelyn’s mean glare. Still, he remembered sharing a bed with Robb, and a bit later Theon, and those cold nights the boys would lay close together under the furs. 

But spring came, and eventually Bran, and the boys then stayed just a little further apart once they shared their bed with a much younger boy. 

Jon remembered this with a sigh, wishing to be back with Robb, and thinking about his pregnant sister in law. It was Robb’s seed, and an heir to Winterfell. Was he jealous of that, that Robb’s sons would be the legitimate heirs to the North? A little, but no. He thought about Robb, and how the Sand Snakes had made him feel, now on a few occasions. He had gone to them, once or twice, but mostly they came to his chambers. He wanted to go to Robb’s chambers, he realized, and for Robb to come to his. 

He wanted his brother, in the Dornish fashion. Thinking of this, and his sister’s miscarriage, he fell asleep full of uneasy thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment! Tell me what you think, of the setting, the creepy night market and the things Arya sees. I sorta figured that the less I describe in detail, the better. So the idea of a goat tied up like a dangerous animal to me is chilling, because the reasons are left up to the reader. 
> 
> Let me know if I should go back and fix mistakes in previous chapters and maybe fill more in. Should I, or just let it be? I wrote this chapter in a feverish state due to viral laryngitis, having drank a bunch of cajun cough syrup, so I admit I was somewhat out of it (honey, cheyenne, and brandy mixed in scalding hot green tea and gulped down quickly). If this chapter actually sucks, I blame the asshole who came in to work sick. 
> 
> Thank you and please leave your thoughts!


	8. First Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya goes through changes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the end of the fucking world. So yeah, I quit my job and I am only taking my online class now. Fantastic. Gonna pass this class, write a bunch of Stark and Sand drama, and probably get drunk. 
> 
> Most boring apocalypse ever.
> 
> Also: Trigger Warning: Rape. Joffrey is his own trigger warning. Plus, there's talk of periods. Don't like, don't read.

It was four months later that Arya found herself sitting on a cushion in Tyene’s chambers, the two girls she shared rooms with at her side, watching as the older Sand Snake ground up herbs in a mortar and pestle.

“Laserwort, works like a charm,” said Tyene as she ground the herbs. “Only thing better is taking the black.” She said this as she scooped the now powdered herb into a glass and poured some watered down wine in with it.

“Will it stop all… this?” asked Arya nervously, gesturing vaguely at herself. She had been heartbroken when Tyene informed her that it wouldn’t be healthy to take anything for her purposes before she got her first blood. Waiting for this dreaded event had been nerve wracking. When it had finally happened, it was worse than she had ever anticipated.

Arya had missed her dancing lessons for the first time of her own volition. She had been forced to miss them in the past, her mother making her meet suitors or do one lady-like activity or another. But the morning Arya had awoken to find her small clothes soaked in blood, she had refused to let her mentor and dancing instructor see her.

Serio had stood outside her curtained off bedroom, not entering that sacred space of hers. He spoke patiently, asking her what was wrong, refusing to leave when Arya had pleaded with him to. He stayed until around noon, when Arya had had enough and had thrown a bloody rag out at his feet.

He had left her alone then, the only people she allowed in her room were Obella and Elia, the only reasons being that they wouldn’t just leave her. They had brought her food, simple things that were easy on her stomach, warm damp rags to ease her cramping, and had tried to keep her distracted. 

Obella would make her laugh, telling jokes or stories and showing off acrobatics. Her bossy and no nonsense nature was strangely comforting, while Elia seemed too bored with what she was going through to ask prying questions, which was just a relief. 

“You’ve seen one flowering, you’ve seen them all,” she had said to coax Arya out of bed in order to make her take a sponge bath. Afterwards, Arya had felt somewhat better, and simply hugged her, Elia rolling her eyes at the gesture. 

Arya had spent five days in all holed up in her bedroom, refusing even to see Jon, afraid that he wouldn’t see her as a warrior anymore but a weak maiden meant to wed. 

Jon had made the kitchens send her an iced sweet made from sour fruits and honey, along with a note telling her that when she felt better, he would love to spar with her. The note had reassured her and made Arya tear up and clutch Nymeria tighter to herself, the direwolf hardly leaving her side. 

She had received other gifts, candy and a new set of sandals, but the one that confused her the most was a small dagger. It was black, intricately cut, and familiar. It was the one she had seen Prince Trystane trying to steal from the dark bazaar that night they had run into each other in that strange place. 

The note that had come with it only said ‘hope you feel better soon. T.’

She had wanted to rip her own innards out with it, her pains were so immense. It was such a relief when her bleeding finally ended, she had cried, so relieved for it to be over. 

“So this will stop me from bleeding?” asked Arya, wrinkling her nose at the yellowish-brown color the herbs turned the wine.

“It will make the bleeding lighter, the pains less immense, and it might go away entirely. As long as you take it, you won’t be able to have babies,” said Tyene, pouring the wine into two cups. “I take it as well. Your brother’s babes would be such pretty creatures, but he’s determined to never have a bastard of his own...” She smiled mischievously at this last bit, chuckling to herself as she saw the way in which Arya looked away from her, awkwardly. 

Tyene then handed Arya a glass and clinked them together, downing hers instantly. “Tastes better than it looks.”

Arya sniffed hers and took a tentative sip, almost gagging with how sour the concoction was. She looked at Tyene as if betrayed, but the Sand snake simply shrugged.

“I said it tastes better than it looks, not that it tastes good.”

Arya rolled her eyes, weary of Tyene’s jokes, before downing hers in one big gulp. 

“There now, you’re one step closer to loosening up, little northern wolf,” laughed Obella, earning a swat from Arya, who felt very much like throwing up. 

“Okay, we’re done here. Now, can we go to luncheon?” asked Elia, ignoring the sick look Arya gave her at the mere mention of food. 

These two girls really were becoming a part of Arya’s pack, acting as guides in this strange place. Arya wanted to tear up, but instead, she simply hugged each of them, not saying it out loud, but glad to have them by her side.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sansa lay on the sheets in her bedchambers, staring at the wall as she blanked it out. This wasn’t happening. Not again.

She had recovered from her ‘accident,’ the maesters declaring her in perfect health to try again after her next moon’s blood. She had tried to keep it hidden, but her maid found her trying to burn the sheets in her fireplace. 

It was useless, Joffrey would have her. Was, having her. She tried to be somewhere else, to steal herself to somewhere happy, her childhood in Winterfell, was where she tried to be. But as if reading her mind, Joffrey grabbed her face, forcing her to look him in the eyes.

“No, I want you here,” he said, thrusting into her again, making her whine as she was forced to see the malice that he had for her. She tried to blank it out, but Joff kept her from looking away again, and made sure she felt every sensation. 

When he spent himself inside of her, Sansa prayed he would pull out quickly, but instead he stayed, determined to make her feel claimed by him. 

“I want to make sure that you retain it, that it quickens and that I get my heir soon,” he said, holding onto her hips to prevent her from pushing him off of her. 

He was fully soft when he finally pulled out, Sansa a sore mess of bruises and scratches. Her only relief was that he left her chambers that night. 

It was hours before she felt brave enough to set foot upon the stone floors, silently sneaking up to the spot on the wall behind the tapestry where one loose stone could be pulled away. 

Here, she reached her arm into the hole, behind the wall as far as it could go, finding a vial with her clumsy, shaking hand. Uncorking it, tears welled in her eyes, as she drank from her secret stash of moon tea.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Catching her breath, Arya sat in the dirt for a moment, looking up at Elia with a grin. It was always hilarious to her, that she could be taken down with two wooden sticks, her opponent's weapon of choice. 

Elia preferred fighting with two blunt staves, with which she not only could catch many a blow, but dulled them out in turn. She was fast with them, hitting hard and aiming for delicate or unguarded areas, something Arya had learned quickly.

“You’re getting better,” sighed Elia, offering Arya her hand and helping her up and then continuing out of the ring almost without stopping

Obella sat on a bench, polishing her short sword. It was a curved, thick blade with a long handle, almost like a scythe. Even when using a dull practice version, she was terrifying with the weapon. It wasn’t so much that she attacked with her sword as she went through people with it, which was why Obella hadn’t been allowed to practice with Trystane in years. 

Arya brushed the dust from her tunic as she walked away from the training area, Obella and Elia walking with her. Elia was examining her sword, making sure that it was clean. Meanwhile, Obella tossed her practice staves onto a bench, not caring since they were only wood. It had been a good day, a day full of bruises and laughter and a quick lunch under the palm trees that grew around the dusty area reserved for training.

she had gotten good at climbing, and often shimmied up their trunks to pluck dates for them to enjoy while they supped beneath the trees between sparing matches and training exercises. She had grown quite strong since her arrival in Dorne, having been allowed to train more openly, Arya had started running and climbing, working on agility and flexibility. Of course, the Sand Snakes teased her, Elia stating that she had been able to do most of what Arya found herself learning by the time she was ten. 

She had even gotten to spar with Jon, wooden swords and shields. Jon had won, but she got a few hits in, and it pleased her to see that despite her ‘having become a lady’ as her mother had always described it, her brother wasn’t holding back. She was still his ‘little sister.’

She was happy, she realized, stealing a quick glance at the girls on either side of her. She had found her pack, it seemed, at long last.

But she wasn’t among wolves, she thought, seeing a sad sight at the far end of the training area. She had seen prince Trystane at his sparing many times, always bruised, and never having a day when he didn’t taste the dirt. It was pathetic, honestly, seeing him day after day beaten senseless by either Obara or Damon or Oberyn or any number of teachers. Still, he was no good at the sword, worse at the lance, and was hopeless at archery. 

Seeing him sitting on a low bench, shirtless and with his face in his hands, Arya felt a pang of something for him. 

“I’m gonna hang back, clean up later,” said Arya, stopping in her tracks. 

“Fine by us,” said Elia, yawning. 

“See you at dinner, pup,” laughed Obella, shaking her head as she saw her cousin sitting gloomily, a normal sight to her.

Arya just stood there for a bit, unsure what to do. She took a few steps closer but didn’t say anything, not knowing why she even cared.

“You don’t have to say anything,” said Trystane, noticing her despite not looking in her direction.

Arya just stared at him, not knowing what to say. Eventually, she said “you’re awful at fighting. You know that, right?”

Trystane just nodded, keeping his gaze fixed at some far off point in the distance.

“How long have you been training with the sword?” she asked, coming up to him finally.

“Ten years,” he said, hopelessly.

“That’s impossible, you can’t be that bad after ten years,” said Arya, wrinkling her nose.

“Well, I am. I have always been clumsy with my hands and unable to properly wield a weapon. Can’t even aim a crossbow,” he said, shaking his head.

“Sounds like you can’t see,” said Arya, smirking.

“Not if they’re more than three feet in front of me. Guess how long most swords are? Or how far away most opponents stand?”

Arya stared at him for a moment, and then realized something, suddenly. “Do you even know what I look like?” she asked, uncertainly. Trystane just shook his head, ashamed.

“Why do you keep training, if you can’t see?” she asked, confused.

“Father says a true prince of Dorne can protect Dorne. Not like he can. He’s so gouty that he can’t even stand up. Mother left him not long after I was born. Don’t blame her. I’ve never been able to please him.”

Arya sat down next to Trystane, looking down at her own feet as she listened. “I know what that’s like. My mother wasn’t pleased that I couldn’t get a betrothal elsewhere, and that I’m not a proper lady like my sister Sansa.”

Trystane turned to look at her, examining her face closely now that he was finally close enough to properly see her.

“Why, you’re not a horseface after all!” he exclaimed, before covering his mouth, ashamed.

“Well fuck you too,” said Arya, standing up from the bench, making to walk off.

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean”-”It’s okay, just forget it,” said Arya, about to walk away. However, she turned back to Trystane and said to him, “you know, if you’re really that bad at fighting, maybe you should work on something else.” 

“Like what?” he asked, looking down at his feet again. 

“Don’t know, you seem pretty good at stealing,” she said, and they both smiled at each other, knowing she was referring to the knife. “When did you go back for it, by the way?”

“The next day, it just seemed like a better gift than flowers,” he said with a shrug.

“Thank you,” said Arya, putting her arm on the prince’s shoulder, before she could stop herself. They both looked away from each other, and then Arya turned. “I’ve got to go,” she said, taking off.

“Wait,” started Prince Trystane, but Arya had already run off after her friends, leaving him sitting alone on the bench.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed. Gonna be honest with y'all, I come from a really repressed background, so I like writing about characters learning about their bodies and sexuality.


	9. Years Since Seeing Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon admits to feelings he finds dishonorable, and Arya is confused by her compassion toward the Prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, world's ending. Funny, right? So yeah, I'm surprisingly busy for a jobless woman with only one online class in a city that has a mandatory stay at home order. Weird. Anyway, I've been rationing my writing in order to not run out of activities while I go slowly insane.
> 
> Sorry about how long it took to get this up. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Letters kept coming from Winterfell and King’s Landing, sometimes daily.

With each letter Jon received, he became more glum. He should have been so happy to hear about new developments at Winterfell, about his brothers and the harvest, and his father’s job as hand and all of the goings on he was absent from. 

Robb told him of the remaining harvest finally being brought in, wheat and barley and rye, apples and plums, and more beetroot than the north knew what to do with. There were plans to plant one final time before the autumn, short season crops such as radishes and spinach. There was even news from the wall. His uncle Benjen had come back from a long ranging from which he had gone missing, refusing to speak of what he saw, but repeatedly stating ‘it is done.’ Robb mentioned arranging a visit with their uncle at Winterfell, and how much they would miss him.

He also wrote often about Roslyn and their future child, which filled him with such joy. Robb told him of the first time he had felt the babe stirring inside of her, and of how excited Bran was to be an uncle, and of who they were thinking of naming the baby after. 

Sometimes, news would come from King’s Landing, from their father about the goings on. These were usually vague, but Jon saw right through that. He could tell that things were tense, with his sister’s marriage and recent accident, as well as things with the Lannisters in general. His father’s hatred for both the King Slayer and the Queen was evident in all of the thing’s left unsaid. 

Robb always ended his letters with ‘We miss you dearly, brother. I love you and wish to see you once again someday, to fight by my side as we were trained for.’

This always filled Jon’s heart with sadness, and on days when he received letters, he would withdraw for several hours. His thoughts and desires filled him with the worst guilt, and his want of such frightful things often disturbed him. 

Alone in his room, Jon often would reread the letter time and again, imagining his brother and his beautiful wife. He would wish himself in her place, to his shame. He wanted to share Robb’s bed, to be filled by him, and to have a legitimate place by his side. Someday, if he were named Robb’s second, he could return to Winterfell, but he would never be to Robb what he wanted. 

His hosts took notice of his change in demeanor, often inquiring as to what could possibly be wrong. However, Jon would say something vague about home sicknesses or being tired from the day’s training. These evasive answers only increased their worries, Arya being especially prying, only to huff off after Jon would say that he couldn’t tell her. 

All he had done here, and he still saw his desires for Robb as the worst dishonor. Robb was Winterfell, and to desire to love him, to be used by him, to lay with his brother and his wife, was more than he could speak aloud. 

So, whenever a letter came from Winterfell, Jon seemed to turn from quietly confident to sullen once again. 

Oberyn and Elleria decided to help him through this, they decided. It wasn’t hard to figure out that letters from home were bothering him, Northern Ravens larger than the ones even in King’s Landing. Since he spoke so fondly of his brother, it was easy to figure out what he missed so much about the north.

Elleria arranged for a special meal on Jon’s name day, bringing in some things from the north to surprise him. It was a bit difficult to arrange, but she wanted to help this lovely young man who was becoming family, and maybe more to her. 

Oberyn had other ways to help, and although he knew that what he offered wasn’t precisely what Jon wanted, he knew that the young wolf would be happy. He could tell that sadness was tinged with something else, jealousy and guilt. He would get it out of him before he quenched the fire, have Jon admit what was troubling him. 

The day before Jon’s twentieth name day, Oberyn took him aside after a sparring match. Jon fought with a lighter version of the northern long sword, easier to handle while fighting in the Dornish style . It had been a day where Jon was in his element, focused and landing blow after blow, all the while dodging Oberyn’s spear at every turn.

“You fought fiercely today, young wolf. Either something very good or very bad has happened to you,” he said, offering Jon a cup of water and patting the bench to indicate that he should sit. 

Jon took the cup but shook his head, preferring to stand while trying to catch his breath.

“It’s… complicated, my Pri- Oberyn,” he quickly corrected, noting the way an eyebrow raised on his host’s face. Oberyn was insistent that he and Arya use his first name, as they were not servants nor foreign royalty, but guests.

“I’ve been receiving many letters from my family recently.”

“And you get bad news? Besides your sister’s dreadful marriage, I cannot begin to guess what is wrong,” replied Oberyn, playing coy. He would try and draw it out of him. “Her situation is unpleasant. A bad match if ever there was one.”. 

The Marttels were as frank and upfront as the Starks, at least in acknowledging problems. Their intentions were often kept hidden, but if there was something obvious and true, they wouldn’t ignore it. Jon had realized this, the way they would not just acknowledge the dragon in the room, but walk up and poke it, if they fancied to. 

Maybe he should just fess up to all of it, Jon thought. It horrified him, but they were accepting of so many dishonors here, that it surely wouldn’t taint their view of him. But saying it aloud would make him look down upon himself, which was far worse, Jon had come to realize.

“I’m sad, upon hearing news of my brother. He’s married, expecting a child, and is happy,” he shook his head, deciding to fess up. “I’m jealous, but not of his position. Well, somewhat. But I have always desired something above that, being him. I’m jealous of his wife, who gets to love him. I’m… attracted to him.’

Jon looked down in shame, when he felt Oberyn place his hand underneath his chin.

“Don’t be ashamed of your love, Jon. You are beautiful, and deserve to be loved in return.” 

Jon was looking Oberyn right in the eyes, that intense viper gaze stirring something in him. Oberyn was much older than him, a silver streak in his long black hair. But his dark skin and muscled, lean frame was enticing to him. 

Oberyn leaned forward, and suddenly, Jon felt those soft lips touching his. He gasped lightly, unsure and not knowing where it came from.

“Be not ashamed, young wolf. Nor sad. You will see your brother again someday. For now, though, I think that you have other passions you’ve been ignoring,” he said, running a hand tentatively down Jon’s well muscled arms. 

Jon leaned in for another kiss, and Oberyn obliged him, with a smile on his lips.

“Tomorrow, after your name day dinner, I want you to come to my quarters,” and with that Oberyn left him, Jon touching the place where their lips had met, in awe. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Arya couldn’t believe her eyes as she walked into the dinning room, the changes just as much a surprise to her as her brother.

Stark banners hung from the walls, both with and without the colors reversed. In the center of the table was a large vase holding twenty roses, a shade so dark that they appeared blood red in the right light. These were only grown in the north, and Arya was so pleased at the sight, she almost wanted to reach out and touch them.

But the real surprise was the food. Laid out on the table were delicacies that the two northerner’s surely missed. Roasted wild boar, covered in honey so that its skin crackled as it was cooked. Buttered turnips and blue cheese, parsnips roasted with garlic, stewed rabbits. Not desert hare, but proper plump rabbits! Northern red wines, thick, fluffy bread, instead of the flat stuff they were eating down there in Dorne. Oh, they liked the Dornish food, but the familiar is such a comfort at times, and the sight filled both Jon and Arya with a safe feeling of nostalgia. 

For dessert there were cinnamon buns, strawberries, and lemon cakes. There was even a cask of beer! 

Arya liked beer, unlike her sister, and she smiled as a small cup was poured for her. It didn’t surprise her in the slightest when the food was seasoned differently, the boar spicy, the rabbits tasting of ginger and pepper. But it was a good kind of different, familiar and new. She raised her glass when Oberyn toasted her brother, and clapped when Jon started serving the wine at the end of the meal.

Finally, it was time to eat their sweets and for Jon to open his gifts, and Arya was so excited, she didn’t know what to do with herself. She had bought Jon a book about fighting styles across the known world, found in the bazaar. Jon looked at the gift, puzzled at first, but then his face lit up at the intricate illustrations with detailed descriptions of weapons and how to wield them. He flung his arms around Arya tightly, causing her to spill some of her beer.

There were other gifts, a new scimitar, a proper oaken shield, and a new set of riding boots. 

“You’re getting so much better at Dornish riding,” said Nymeria, giving Jon one of her sensuous smiles, making him blush. 

A board and set for playing the game Cyvasse was gifted to him by Prince Trystane, who shyly smiled as he sipped his wine and muttered something about being pleased to play the game with Jon if he liked.

Finally, he got to his final present, and when Jon opened it, all were quiet. Arya sensed a bit of tenseness in the air and watched intently as he pulled a small, metal object from its box. The object was phallic but quite short, and had a rounded base, and upon seeing it, the youngest Sand Snakes began giggling uncontrollably. 

Oberyn watched Jon’s reaction, as he began to turn the object in his hand and then cough uncomfortably as he realized what it was for. 

“Thank you, Oberyn, Elleria, it’s quite… erm,”-”If you are not interested in the implications, there is no offense taken,” started Oberyn, giving Jon a reassuring smile. 

Jon rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit he had developed as these Dornish teased and poked at his honor and sensibilities. But his honor was gone, he supposed, and he poured himself another cup of wine. He downed it quickly and rose from the table, deciding to just take what was being offered.

“Thank you for this lovely name day celebration. You have become family to me, and you have tried to help with my longings for home. Thank you,” he began, petting Arya on the head as he addressed the room. “Oberyn, your invitation is accepted, and I would like for you to lead the way.” With that he held out his hand, and Oberyn stood, smiling his wicked smile. 

“Everyone, enjoy the food and fun. I’ve got a lesson to teach,” said the Red Viper, and he lent down and kissed Ellaria’s hand, her smiling sweetly in return. 

“Be gentle with him. I’ll join you in our quarters later,” she whispered loud enough for all to hear, and Jon went red at the implications.

“No promises,” replied Oberyn, and then he walked around the table to Jon, taking his hand and leading him away from the dining room. 

All of the Sand Snakes were clapping, whistling, or giving dirty japes as Jon Snow was led from the room.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Arya rolled her eyes and sipped her wine, ignoring the revelry and salacious banter of her hosts. She liked to joke along with them, mostly, but when the humor turned to sex, she tended to get quiet. It wasn’t that she didn’t think it could be funny, seeing people’s reactions, how silly the naked human form really was, all of this she found amusing. 

But their banter seemed tinged with a normalcy and celebration that worried her. It wasn’t like in the North, where one didn’t speak of such things, while expecting girls to spread their legs and breed on command. No, Arya realized that this was much better. Still, her being in an arranged engagement did carry an implication to her that these jokes did nothing to lessen. 

It was Obella who noticed her being quiet, enjoying her dessert and ignoring their jokes with determination.

“Does it make you uncomfortable, pup?” she asked, the nickname one that had stuck, despite Arya’s attempts to make them stop. 

“What?” she asked, looking up and noticing that now everyone was staring at her. She froze for a moment, thinking fast. “I mean, it’s weird that you’re all so happy to send off my brother with another man.”

“Does it make you uncomfortable because he’s your brother, or that it’s another man,” asked Elia, assuming the taboo was what was making Arya sink down in her cushion.

Arya thought for a moment, deciding whether or not to tell them, then shook her head. “No, I’m just… it worries me that I’ll be expected to… I’m to marry and will have to… even without having babies, what if I just don’t see a point or purpose or want to?”

Elleria reached out her hand across the table and took Arya’s in hers, looking at her intently. “Fear not, pup. We won’t make you do anything you don’t want.”

The familiar, irksome nickname reassured her, and Arya simply nodded. Everyone was quiet for a moment, Arya wishing that she had just been able to smile and play along, like what her mother had always wanted.

“Would you like to take a walk, Arya?” The question made her look up, and she noticed that Trystane was standing up from his cushion, holding out a hand to her.

She got up, unsure why, but decided to trust the prince and took his offered hand. 

Prince Trystane led her along the ornate hallways and out onto a balcony, where he sat down on a bench and patted the space next to him, indicating for her to sit down.

They were quiet for a while, until prince Trystane broke the silence. “Since my eyesight has gotten worse with time, I can’t see the stars anymore. Are they out tonight?”

Arya looked up, seeing the bright stars shining above them. She nodded, and then said, “yeah, they’re out.” A pause, and then she continued, “they’re really beautiful.”

Prince Trystane nodded at this, and a tear ran down his cheek. “You know, I’ve thought a lot about what you said, about not doing the things I’m bad at. I started to wonder, what am I good at? Am I good at anything, or just good at all, in general. I read a lot, play cyvasse, sneak out and steal. That’s really all I can do, but I don’t care. Tomorrow, I’m going to tell my father that I will no longer train at combat.”

“That’s good,” said Arya, facing forward. It was cold, and Prince Trystane felt the goosebumps on her arm, and so he took off the outer jacket he wore and draped it around her shoulders. “I’m sure you’re good at more than that, though.”

“Oh?” asked Trystane, and Arya grinned at him, close enough for him to see. “Yeah, you’re also great at being an ass.”

“Wonderful,” muttered Trystane, covering his face. Arya laughed, and Trystane let out a huff, deciding to really open up.

“I just spent so much time trying to be who father wanted, that I guess I never took any offered help. Even as my sight got worse, and things far away got more and more blurry, I only saw one path ahead and none other would bring me solace. I pushed my family away trying to walk down that path, wanting to look like the strong, obedient son father wanted. But now, I feel like I can go anywhere, be anything. I can become a prince that will be good for Dorne, somehow, in my own way, like you.”

“Me?” asked Arya, furrowing her brow.

“Yes, you were never good at being a lady, so you worked on what you were meant for. I just need to find what I can do.” He smiled at the idea, as if there really were endless roads before him. But then he turned back to Arya, who looked at him intently, and then he looked away. 

“Should I tell father that I won’t be wed to you?” he asked, and Arya froze. Her guts churned, her sympathy for him astonishing her. She was supposed to hate him, to make him feel her revulsion so that the union would be called off and then… she could be sent off somewhere else, she realized. Considering things, Arya realized that she could do a lot worse..

“No, tell him nothing of us. I’m… undecided, on some things,” she said, kicking herself at the realization.

“If we were to, we could just, um… I would have others,” Trystane offered shyly, cheeks pink as Jon’s when embarrassed.

It took Arya a moment to get what Trystane meant, and she sighed, shaking her head. “That’s reassuring, but just know, you’re not good just because you wouldn’t force yourself on me.”

It was Trystane who nodded this time, staring off in the distance at nothing. “I know, but I want to be good, not just to find what I can do, but to really, be good. Could you help me with that?” 

Arya wanted to laugh, thinking that maybe all those lessons in courtesies weren’t so useless after all. “We’ll see.” She leaned her head on Trystane’s shoulder, and described the constellations to him.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jon bit his lips as Oberyn worked two fingers in and out of him, the stretch feeling immense. Still, he really wanted this, in so many shameful ways. He was on his hands and knees, naked and with a very naked Oberyn sitting on his knees behind him. Jon tried leaning back to get Oberyn’s finger’s deeper, but a firm hand placed on his hip stopped him.

“Patience, pet. You’re so eager, but you need to relax. There’s plenty of time for us to do everything, and then some.” Oberyn said this and leaned down, giving Jon’s bum a good bite, making him shudder. 

“Tell me, is this what you want from Robb? For him to bend you over and take you like his wife? Or do you want him on his back, legs over his head?” whispered Oberyn, working his fingers in and out, faster, finding and hitting Jon’s prostate, almost making his legs give out. 

“Fuck, oh, I want all of it,” he said, throwing his head back, scrunching his face up in pleasure. “Want him to fuck me, want him… gods, yes, there. Want to fuck and fill him with my bastards, to defile the perfect heir of Winterfell and always be a part of each other. Gods!”

Oberyn added a third finger, quickling shoving it in rather than working it slowly like the others. “Fuck, Jon, I didn’t realize you carried this much envy.”

Jon wanted to hang his head in shame, but it felt oh so good. Not just the things Oberyn was doing, but admitting this. Admitting his feelings, both of love and jealousy. 

“I want him, more than anything,” he said, sweat pouring off of his brow and tears filling his eyes. 

“Hmm,” nodded Oberyn, spreading out his fingers in order to scissor him open, making Jon whine. 

Oberyn brought Jon back to the present as he stroked that spot inside of him, leaning around and awkwardly capturing his lips in a kiss. “What do you want right now, Jon? Do you want my mouth on your pretty hole?” He decided to change the tune of things, to make this a more positive experience. 

“I, um… well,” Jon was blushing again, the few freckles that now peppered his cheeks standing out against the bright red flush that crept up to his hairline. “I’ve never, no one has ever, um…”

“You mean my daughter’s have neglected your pretty ass? That’s too bad, that no one has ever kissed you there,” and with that, Oberyn leaned down, spreading Jon’s cheeks further apart and licking up his perineum, then right over his sensitive hole. Jon let out a quiet gasp as Oberyn began to lick, slowly, drawing out each stroke wickedly.

“Hmm, you taste like soaps and sweet oils,” he said, having forced Jon to strip and wash all over, inside and out, before practically throwing him onto his bed. Jon had been impatient, wanting Oberyn to fuck him into the mattress quickly, but Oberyn had simply chuckled and oiled up one finger, teasingly. 

That had been an hour before, and now Oberyn slowly worked his tongue inside and Jon moaned, leaning his head lower and raising his rear to give the Prince of Dorne better access.

Oberyn lapped in and out, adding his fingers once again and occasionally giving a gentle nip. Jon was seeing stars, calling his name and begging him, begging him to get on with it and to fuck him already.

“So needy. Such a needy pet. Will you be good for me?” he asked, sitting back and running a hand over Jon’s firm bum.

Jon didn’t immediately respond, until he felt a crack and his ass stung red and his flesh rippled. 

“I asked if you’ll be good for me,” repeated Oberyn, giving him another firm spank. Jon quickly nodded, enthusiastic and keening as Oberyn gave him one last, gentle slap on the bum. 

“Turn over,” he said, and Jon obeyed, eager. If just tongues and fingers were this good, he knew that he wanted to do whatever Oberyn wanted of him. Maybe later, he could suck his cock, learn how to swallow him down to the hilt. He wasn’t Robb, but it meant so much to Jon that a Prince would share his bed with him.

He looked up at Oberyn, who hovered naked above him. His manhood stood proud and long. Not as thick as his, but that reassured Jon. He still wasn’t sure what he could handle, and Oberyn already had a lot to give.

Oberyn caught his hand, grinning at him with a hungry look, his eyes dark with want. He pinned Jon’s hand above his head, and with his other, parted his thighs.

“If you need to stop, tell me. Let me know how it feels. Do not hide things from me,” said Oberyn, biting Jon’s neck as if claiming him. The message was clear, he was in charge, and Jon had to be honest with him. 

With that, he guided his cock towards Jon’s entrance, pushing in slowly. He stilled once fully seated, holding Jon by his thighs. 

“Gods…” muttered Jon, trying to keep his eyes open to look at the gorgeous expression on Oberyn’s face. The stretch was intense, and the feeling went much deeper than expected, but it was still good. Oberyn captured his lips in a gentle kiss, then caressed his face with one hand, his viper eyes seeming soft for a moment.

“Is it good?” he asked, moving his hips around before pulling out most of the way and then sliding back in.

“Yes,” whined Jon Snow, trying to hook his leg around Oberyn’s waist, trying to get him to move. More, he needed more.

“You’ll take what I give,” said Oberyn, Offering a gentle kiss, but then biting down on Jon’s bottom lip, and then started to thrust in and out. Slow at first, but Jon was raking his nails up and down his back, so he knew it was a lot for the young wolf. 

“Please,” begged Jon, throwing his head back. “I want more.”

“Very well,” said Oberyn, grunting as he reangled himself and raised Jon’s legs up somewhat, changing the angle. He thrust in earnest then, Jon letting out the prettiest whines, and then digging his nails into Oberyn’s back. 

“There! Gods, right there, don’t stop,” he said, trying to spread his legs wider. And gods, the sight of him. His hair was sticking to his forehead, his eyes scrunched and his breath hitched and interrupted with gasps and whines bordering on obscene. 

Oberyn focused on hitting that spot inside of him, pleased. Jon felt so good around him, clenching every time he tried to pull out in order to make more friction. 

He pulled Jon’s legs further apart, causing him to gasp, the stretch intense. Then, Oberyn delicately ran his hand over Jon’s manhood. It was beautiful, thick with a purple head just peeking out of the foreskin, glistening with precum. 

“Fuck, yes please,” gasped Jon, trying to angle himself to get more. More of Oberyn hitting that spot that made him see stars, more of his mouth on his neck. Oberyn obliged, deciding that since it was Jon’s name day, he would indulge him. He fucked him roughly just the way Jon wanted, grasping his cock. 

“Come for me, pet,” he said, between thrusts. “Want you to come so pretty on my cock.” And with that, three more thrusts while jerking Jon’s hot, heavy cock and the boy was coming undone under him.

“Fuck, Prince. Oh…,” Jon was done for, his body seizing up and clenching around Oberyn, who he felt spill inside of him. It was different than with girls, as he felt it deep from within, his legs shaking around Oberyn, who stayed buried deep as he came, hard. 

Falling limp back onto the mattress, Oberyn pulled out, gently, Jon wincing, feeling sensitive as some of the seed spilled from him as well.

Oberyn lay next to him, silent, cupping Jon’s face gently with his hand. Jon looked into Oberyn’s eyes, his dark brown viper gaze seeming loving and tender, and he saw himself reflected back in them. Both were sweaty, panting as each looked at the other, taking in the moment. They didn’t speak for several moments, feeling lost in their post coital bliss, neither wanting to break the mood. After several minutes, Oberyn got up, grabbing a damp rag and cleaning Jon up, who winced again upon being touched. 

“I didn’t harm you, did I?” asked Oberyn, wiping away the oil and cum.

“No, just sensitive,” muttered Jon, reaching out and taking Oberyn’s hand, kissing it tenderly. “Thank you.” There was a lot in these two words, and Oberyn’s heart swelled, and he cradled Jon close as he laid down again, pulling him flush with his chest, and the two rested side by side.

Later that night, Elleria joined them, and a raven came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm kinda leaning toward Arya being somewhat Ace. Not hard asexual, but just somewhere on the spectrum. Figured it would be kinda true to her character, as she's just really not interested in anything to do with marriage or kids in the books. She tends to get to know everyone though, and knows a lot about what whores do what, at least in Braavos. 
> 
> Anyway, I promise that the plot will start to get more momentum going, I just tend to focus on character interactions, and since this setting allows for news to travel only as fast as a raven can fly, I tend to take advantage of that.
> 
> Enjoy, please comment, and happy apocalypse!


	10. A Letter with Two Seals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A distressed letter from Sansa reaches Sun Spear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yesterday was my birthday. I don't think I spoke to another person in person. I would do anything for human touch. Going insane. Would love some reviews to lift my spirits, or encourage me to write better, if necessary.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy and happy apocalypse.

_Please, help me. My marriage to the prince has been all seven hells, and I beg for rescue, or for the release of death. Mother won’t do anything, convinced it’s a good union, and father is too afraid to act without evidence that would spare us from charges of treason. The king won’t hear me out, and the queen smiles and says I will get used to it, so it seems that none will save me. The only saving grace has been Varies, bringing me moon tea so that I don’t have to bear the prince’s children. Oh, even Lady isn’t here to help, since she died of a sickness that came on quite suddenly months ago. I know that this is dangerous, but I have to entreat you, Martells, because I know how you despise the Lannisters. Father is working on finding evidence against the Lannisters, and maybe he can help deliver you Sandor Clegane, if you do decide to help._

_Please come to my aid and I will be forever in your debt._

_Arya, little sister, I hope that you can help me. Jon, you are a gifted fighter, please come to my rescue, brother. I know that this letter puts you in danger, but please do help me. I beg in the name of the seven, the old gods, the new, and all._

_Please, save me from this torment. Sansa Stark_

Only Oberyn, Arya, and Jon read the letter, standing close together in an empty tower not often used, so as to evade the prying eyes of Doran. The three stood tensely, afraid to move, as if the thing would explode. They looked upon treason itself, yet couldn’t leave the poor girl.

Arya couldn’t help but quietly tear up, having caught a glimpse of what her sister went through before being sent to Sunspear. She wondered, also, how her sister had managed to send this letter, her Sansa never having been very good at sneaking about.

Arya looked at the back of the creased parchment, carefully.

“no one intercepted it, otherwise the seals would be broken,” she observed.

“There’s two wax seals, actually, one of house Stark, when Sansa sent it, the other from Riverrun, which she sent it too first, otherwise it would be intercepted,” said Jon, looking where Arya pointed.

“How did she manage to get a raven to Riverrun? Wouldn’t they know if she did?” asked Oberyn, frowning at the letter.

“If she sent it by Raven from the Red Keep, then the royal court and the prince know of what she’s done,” muttered Jon, shaking his head in frustration.

Oberyn just hoped that she had somehow managed to avoid detection. All letters sent out of the Red Keep were carefully monitored, the location and recipient known to whichever maester kept the ravens. The maesters were forbidden to look at the contents of the letters they handled for others, but of course, when are words more than wind?

Arya wiped the tears from her eyes, angry at the thought of Lady being harmed. She had trained the direwolves to only eat when being watched by her, so of course being sent to Dorne had been a death sentence for her sister’s direwolf. Joff had had her poisoned, in order to make harming her sister easier, no doubt.

She understood why Sansa needed help, but all she could think of was this stupid mistake, sending a letter. Had she been detected, Sansa had put them all in danger.

Jon creased his brow in thought, wondering how his relatives at Riverrun had known not to open the letter. She looked again at the place where the wax seals had been broken when he opened the letter, and gently peeled away at the purple wax from Riverrun. Underneath were words, written in tiny letters which could only be Sansa’s _do not open, send to Sunspear._

Arya’s eyes went wide at this, and she huffed in annoyance. “Sansa, stupid as usual,” she muttered, wandering off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all like it. I'm gonna try harder to write more, especially since I'm supposed to be doing homework again. Need to procrastinate somehow.
> 
> Please review
> 
> Thank you!


	11. Propositions In the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trystane faces his father, Arya learns more about herself, and the Starks and Martells begin to devise a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've started losing my mind. This chapter has been slow coming, as I've been trying to ration all forms of entertainment. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope that y'all like it. Please comment and tell me what you think.

Trystane sat atop his steed, being led by a procession from Sunspear to the Water Garden palace where his father ruled. Despite Sunspear being the capital, it was the ruling prince’s prefered residence, and since his wife had left him, no one would argue with Doran. 

It was some three leagues away from Sunspear, but riding out before the sun rose would get them there soon enough. 

He had the route memorized despite being unable to clearly see all the marker’s along the way, Trystane naming them in his mind ‘Blurry tall tower’ or ‘probably a mountain, never gotten close enough.’

It was a dreary ride, the heat a depressing thing at times. An endless vague tan dun color and the sky seeming white from heat. It was sensory deprivation, a silent ride where the only thing Trystane was aware of was the sweat which pooled around his thighs in the saddle and the motion of the horse under him, the sound from the horses’ hooves absorbed by the sand. 

No one spoke, and the bland, blurry landscape made him lose focus more than usual, such that Trystane felt trapped inside of his own head. 

In his head with him was his father, judgmental, unforgiving of his inadequacies. Every bitter word that Doran had spoken to him, he remembered. Yes, his uncle Oberyn was harsh, but believed he could help him, encouraging him as much as punishing. Meanwhile, his father had given up on him and sent him away from the Water Gardens when he was eight, so that now he only saw his father when he was summoned.

This was the first time he had voluntarily chosen to visit him, and as the blurry form of the Water Gardens slowly became more and more discernable to him, Prince Trystane clenched his jaw, knowing what he had to do. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Arya walked angrily into her room, stepping heavily and making her way toward her curtained off bed with a huff. 

Sansa had killed them, she thought. She and her brother Jon and her entire family would be killed, every single one of them. It would be Sansa’s fault.

The familiar sound of moaning came from her friends’ bed, but instead of ignoring it like she usually did, Arya stopped in her tracks, and walked up to their room with uncertainty. Slowly, she pulled back the curtain and saw Elia on her back, naked, and letting Obella lick her where her legs met. 

It was curious to Arya, why they did this. She walked up slowly, noticing the way in which Elia gripped the sheets with one hand and squeezed at one of her small breasts with the other. How Obella smiled, her face covered in slick fluids. Arya felt something warm churn within her, and suddenly both girls were looking up at her, confused.

“What?” asked Elia, as if having her sister licking her off wouldn’t get them both hanged in most places in the seven kingdoms, much less the world. Obella sat up somewhat, petting the mattress next to her in invitation.

Arya didn’t move from where she stood, looking at the girls curiously.

“Why do you do this?” she asked, deciding that she might as well figure out what the fuss was all about. Everyone here was so… obsessed with sex, except the small kids, who laughed at jokes but didn’t understand what was meant yet.

She had preferred to keep away from the subject, but the possibility of being married off seemed to vanish with that letter. Finding out what she liked had no consequences if they were all going to die now.

“I mean, how does it work, and why would you do that, if it’s two girls?” asked Arya, furrowing her brow.

“Curious now, pup?” asked Obella, the deviant smile coming to her lips both sweet and obscene. 

Arya didn’t say anything, just nodded toward Elia, and Obella shrugged and got back to it, lapping at her clit with intent. Elia spread her legs wider, so Arya could see, and placed her hand on the back of her sister’s head. 

The sounds coming from Obella were loud groans as she worked, as if she were the one receiving pleasure. She attacked with her tongue and added a finger, delicately going through her sister’s folds, gently dipping inside of her. 

Arya sat on the bed to watch, and before she could stop herself, she was reaching down the front of her loose pants, finding herself wet in those places again. She had been taught how reproduction worked, and knew that it was supposed to feel somewhat good, but she hadn’t ever felt a desire toward such things. Maybe it was the type of life that would come with it, but here it was supposed to be different, she knew. 

She felt herself, finding her own clit quickly enough, giving it a gentle rub. She didn’t feel much and dipped her finger lower, experimentally, running it through the wetness and bringing it back up to her clit, where she then began to rub again, the feeling intensified this time. She gasped at the feeling, quietly, amazed at herself. This new sensation was a nice one, and she copied what she saw Obella doing, rubbing herself in a quick, repetitive motion. 

With her other hand she lowered her trousers, and then got on her knees to steady herself. Spreading her legs, she dipped one finger gently into her vagina, leaning to get a better view of what Obella was doing. She crooked her finger and had to bite her lip, continuing to go at her clit, beginning to feel something building within her. She had heard about this, but had thought that only men had a release, but she continued, gasping quietly as she worked at herself until she felt herself at an intense peak. And before she knew it she was over the edge, a rush coming over her and Arya moaned and she came on her own fingers, closing her eyes and blocking out the world. 

When it was over and she had caught her breath, she realized that the two Sand Snakes were staring at her again.

“Didn’t realize you were loud, pup,” laughed Elia, gaining a prompt swat from Obella. 

Arya’s cheeks turned red and she quickly pulled her pants back up, turning away. Despite her quick pace and the embarrassment that rang through her, she felt more calm, less anxious as she walked through the curtains and lay down on her bed. 

Was that why people do that? She wondered, laying on her back, closing her eyes, until she heard a rustle at the curtains. Elia and Obella were dressed again, and before she could say anything had climbed in the bed with her. 

Each lay on one side of her, and for the first time since the letter, Arya felt safe. She could come up with a plan, and her pack would be by her side.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I do not recall summoning you, my son,” stated Doran, focusing on the children out in the water garden. “Have you come to tell me of something important?”

Trystane knelt before his father, his eyes lowered. He had to go through with this, no stopping now. 

“Yes, father. I wanted to tell you that I have decided”-”what have I told you about brevity?” asked Doran, cutting him off with a wave of his hand.

Trystane bit his lip, turning away and facing out at the water gardens where the children played.

“Why did you never let me play in the water gardens, father?” he asked, genuinely curious of the answer.

His father raised an eyebrow and then sighed. “I wanted to make you grow up seeing them as those you must protect. If you played with the other children, you would have had favorites. You have to see all your people as equals to one another. These children are common, but if you had befriended them, you would have lifted some up, given them favor. It always happens, and is unavoidable to an extent. Your sister is my heir, then your elder brother, and they both have many people they owe a lot to, many people who crowd around them to garner favor and who would stab them in the back if not granted. I didn’t want my last child to live as a slave to such things. I know attachments are unavoidable, but I hoped to minimize them.”

This was shocking, the kind voice that Doran used to tell Trystane this, but there was still an icy coldness there, like his father was telling him this through some dark veil. 

“So you’ve chosen to wed the Stark girl? I’ve heard she’s finally bled for the first time,” said Doran, off handedly.

“I… um, not yet. We’re talking about it,” said Trystane, timidly. He wanted to yell that Arya wasn’t a broodmare, that she was nice and deserved better, but he knew that she probably wouldn’t find better.

“Of course not, you’re too timid. Always been too timid. It’s good that you’re last in line,” said Doran, waving to dismiss his son. He wished to return to watching the children play. 

“But father, there’s something else.” then, barely hesitating, he blurted out, “I’m no longer training to fight. I want to learn how to be useful to Dorne, and I’m not a fighter.”

“Cripples and women can afford to learn the other skills of diplomacy, but people only respect a man if he can wield a sword,” muttered Doran, shaking his head. 

“Oh, so that’s your excuse?” said Trystane, before he could stop himself. He then stood up and got close to his father, closer than he had been in years. “I may have bad vision, but I can see right through you.” and with that he left, heading toward where his guard waited for him. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That evening, Arya and Jon Snow met again in the abandoned tower, finding Oberyn waiting for them with a single candle, as well as someone else.

“Hello,” purred Ellaria, kissing Jon deeply as she liked to do in greeting. She gave Arya a warm smile, to which she returned a frown. 

“What are you doing here?” whispered Arya, irritated. “You can’t just tell everyone.”

“I tell her everything, I would trust Lady Sand with my life. Now, Starks, we need to think of a plan,” said Oberyn, firmly, holding his hand in front of the candle flame

“You do realize that by informing her, you put your paramour in danger,” said Jon Snow, trying to look away from the sensuous grin Ellaria was giving him.

“We were all in danger the moment your sister sent that letter, aware of it or not,” said Oberyn, defensively. “Now we just need to figure out what to do about it.”

“Dorne is difficult to invade, but Winter is coming. If they cut off supplies it might be possible to Starve out the entire Kingdom,” said Jon, looking out the window. “We need allies, on the outside of this region.”

“Yes, but for what?” asked Oberyn, uncertainly. “What are we supposed to do?”

“We have to save my sister,” said Arya, flatly. “We can tell Robb and he will have the North on our side and ready to give us backup as needed. If both Dorne and the North work together, we can get the King to give in to our demands.”

“King Robert is a stubborn man, and he would relish the excuse for war,” said Ellaria, frowning at the memory of meeting the king at Sansa’s wedding. He was a man who loved violence, war being how he gained his crown. 

“Should we tell the North, then?” asked Oberyn, frowning, thinking about the help they would surely need. “If we do, letters can be intercepted.”

Jon took a deep breath, thinking of his brother. Robb had said he wished to fight with him by his side, but he wasn’t sure he would want to instigate the fight. He had a babe on the way, probably within the month, but Jon didn’t want to do this without Robb, and he knew that Robb would want to help save their sister.

“We should, but we can’t send it by Raven,” said Jon Snow, noticing folded papers on a dusty table. He took the candle from Oberyn and began sorting through the papers until he struck some luck and found a map, and he smiled, handing the candle to Arya.

“We send a messenger, someone strong and trustworthy, by ship. We go around King’s Landing, past the fingers, and the ship lands at White Harbor. From there, the messenger will ride to Winterfell,” explained Jon, pointing at the route on the map. 

“But, what will we tell him? We surely can’t ask to storm King’s Landing,” said Ellaria, frowning down at the map.

“We won’t have to,” pipped up Arya, and all looked down at her, unsure. “We lure the royal court down here, where we have the advantage.”

“And why would they ever come down here to these savage lands?” asked Oberyn, giving a sniff as he said it, aware of what the royal court thought of Dorne.

“Why, we invite them. It’s only proper for the whole court, as well as the rest of my family, to come down for my wedding to Prince Trystane,” said Arya, the candle illuminating the almost mad smile which consumed her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that y'all like it. I've been a bit of a mess and really am trying to keep my brain together. I hope it doesn't show. Anyway, be safe, please leave a comment, and happy apocolypse.


	12. A Stark Born at Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roslyn sneaks aboard Robb's ship headed south for Dorne, and Theon proves useful in an unexpected way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is definitely the result of my being skin-starved and isolated. Why did society have to lock down while I'm across the country from my girlfriend?
> 
> So yeah, I wrote this because I want to be embraced, and I'm going a bit crazy, and I kinda wanted a use for Theon in this, because I sorta like the dynamic of him as the ward of the Stark family.
> 
> Please review and enjoy

Robb had never expected his dear wife to be giving birth onboard a ship sailing on a stormy sea heading south for Dorne. Of course, he hadn’t expected for her to sneak aboard in order to attend his little sister’s wedding, nor to receive a messenger from Sunspear, Prince Oberyn’s eldest daughter, Obara, to issue the invitation in person. 

Neither of these events had him as out of sorts, however, as the fact that the invitation had been a disguise for a call for help, which Robb had only been informed of by Obara upon leaving the shore.

The last straw to his near shattered nerves, though, was that his ward, Theon Greyjoy, was now assisting in the delivery of his and Roslyn’s child.

When Roslyn had been discovered, hiding in the ship’s galley, squatting among bags of flour and casks of wine and beer, it had caused a tremendous uproar. Robb demanded that the ship be turned around right away. Roslyn had barely been allowed to come to see him off at White Harbor due to her pregnancy, and now they were heading south on a strong wind with her aboard.

However, the ship’s captain staunchly refused, as turning back around would be too dangerous, the autumn winds finally driving south and not letting up. Storms would start blowing in from the Shimmering Sea soon, and it was safer to sail as far south as possible, rather than turn back toward the danger. 

He had been right, and only a day after Roslyn’s discovery did the storm come upon their ship, pushing them farther south. The only safe thing to do would be to get past the fingers, and at that point, they might as well finish the journey. Besides, it was a Dornish vessel, and the Martells would be wanting their ship back.

Still, when Roslyn went into labor, Robb’s cool demeanor had almost broken. He had hoped that they might make port somewhere before her time came, but now they were out at sea without a maester or a midwife, or so he had thought. 

Theon had taken charge when Robb had come out of his cabin with news that Roslyn was having pains, to the surprise of him, the captain, Obara, and everyone. The Ironborn had explained that on the Iron Islands, everyone of noble birth had to know basic healing in case they were stranded at sea. While aboard ship with his older brothers, Theon had had to help sew wounds or apply a hot iron after a limb was sawed off. As luck would have it, he had also witnessed a few births, the most recent when he had been nine, the mother being some whore who had given birth aboard one of his eldest brother’s ships. 

The ward and hostage felt once again in his element being on board a ship, having from the first day of their voyage followed the captain to ask him questions or lend a hand at the sails or even the steering. To him, Roslyn giving birth was just another part of this voyage, and he laughed when he realized that the normally steady Robb was truly deep down panicked. 

“Greenlanders, all have stomachs weak as a babe’s,” he had laughed, and so Robb got a hold of himself and put on a strong face for Roslyn. 

Although irked that Roslyn had snuck aboard, Robb put on a confident face and comforted the first time mother to be the way in which Theon showed him.

This was how Robb had found himself sitting behind his wife, allowing her to grip his wrists with her small hands. At first she had squeezed his fist, almost breaking a bone, until Theon all but slapped her hands away and showed Robb how to let her hold onto him without her injuring his sword hand. 

Obara sat next to Theon, passing him rags or water or whatever he needed, unsure of how else to help. Meanwhile, Theon knelt between Roslyn’s legs, helping her breathe through her pains and checking the progress of things. His whole demeanor seemed different. Instead of the normal swagger which seemed to always come from the Ironborn, which Jon had always detested and Robb had ignored, Theon seemed focused, almost soft. 

Robb had assumed that the labor wouldn’t take so long, his mother only having labored eight hours with Rickon. After twenty-four, Theon had finally pronounced that things were actually moving along, and at the twenty-six hour, Roslyn’s waters had broken. 

“We’re all born of water, all is well,” murmured Theon, using a voice that may not have been comforting, but lacked the normal sneer that accented almost everything the Ironborn said. 

Obara hadn’t spoken the entire time except to ask if she could get them anything or to chase away the occasional curious sailor. She didn’t have much to offer in the way of help, child bed not her domain. 

Robb, however, was all comfort and kisses, despite his occasional chastisement.

“You’re so foolish, Roslyn. I love a beautiful, strong, incredible fool,” he would say, or something of the sort, moving more and more toward praise as her labor progressed.

When finally it came time to push, he had nothing but praise for Roslyn, as his laboring wife squeezed his wrists white and pushed with all she had. Theon had insisted on her sitting on her haunches, disgusted at the very idea of laying her down on her back. Although the up and down motion of the ship made her unsteady, Robb supported her from behind as she pushed, uncertain if this was how it should be done but obeying nonetheless.

“Comes out faster this way,” Theon had insisted, and due to this, it didn’t take too long, although to Roslyn and Robb it seemed to take an eternity. 

“Okay, Roslyn, let me have your hand,” said Theon, taking Roslyn’s wrist between contractions and moving it down to feel the downy hair on the baby’s head.

“Oh gods,” she cried, giving a heaving sob as the next contraction wracked through her.

“Okay, keep pushing, almost there,” instructed Theon, gently guiding out one shoulder. “Breathe Roslyn, only one more.” He had barely finished saying this before she was pushing again, and suddenly the other shoulder was free and the baby slid out and gave a first, tearing cry.

“It’s a boy, a little ginger Stark if ever there was one,” said Theon, the cheeky grin coming back to his face. 

“Oh, oh Roslyn” sobbed Robb, laying his wife back gently as the baby was handed to her, wrapped in a clean rag. He moved to the side and watched in amazement as his son was comforted by his wife, tears welling up in his eyes.

Theon worked to tie off and cut the cord, and delivered the placenta, placing it in a bowl of salt water. “We’ll throw it overboard for the drowned god,” he said, dripping a little salt water on the baby’s head as well. 

Roslyn had the child quieted quickly, smiling weakly as it suckled her teat. “My child, Robb, look at our child.” 

Robb petted her hair and cradled his son’s head with his other hand, speechless.

“I’ll leave you to it, be back later to check on things,” said Theon with a slight nod, getting up to leave for his own cabin, taking the bowl of placenta with him, an offering for the drowned god.

Obara gave a polite smile and offered Roslyn bites of bread dipped in wine, but Robb took the food and started feeding his lady wife himself, dismissing the Sand Snake back to her quarters to wash and rest up herself. It had been a long day and night for all involved. 

“You did good, you cheeky little sneak,” said Robb, kissing Roslyn’s sweaty forehead gently.

“We both did,” she said, leaning into his touch. “Now your whole family will get to see our son.”

“Ay,” sighed Robb, nodding his head, thinking of the situation Obara had told him of once they had set off from land, how this wedding was a cover to save his sister. He would tell her, in a few days' time. For now, however, Robb didn’t want to spoil this. He knew that keeping her ignorant was neither kind nor safe for Roslyn, but at the time being, he only wanted to focus on being with his wife and son.

“Donner?” asked Roslyn, crooking her head to the side. “Named for the first son of Beron Stark and Lady Lorra Royce.”

“I like it, but are you sure you don’t want to honor one of your brothers?” asked Robb, sympathetically. After witnessing this, he would let his wife choose all their children’s names, he decided, since she had done all of the hard work. He offered her a bit more of the wine soaked bread, which she bit into hungrily, shaking her head.

“No, my family picks the worst names for men, Stevron or Ryman, shhhh,” she cooed at the squirming babe, changing his position slightly. “See, he doesn’t like them. When we have a daughter, we can name her for one of my half sisters or girl cousins”

“Anything, my love” whispered Robb, not letting go as the three settled deeper into the mattress. It was stuffy and dank and the storm still rocked the ship about, but these were the last things on Robb’s mind as his wife and child drifted off to sleep in his embrace. He would protect his family, his wife and child, his brothers, his sisters. These were his wolf pack, and winter was coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, definitely the result of my going absolutely coocoo bananas. Hopefully we'll all lose our minds together.
> 
> Anyway, please leave a comment or kudos. Would love some real feedback since I'm trying to improve my writing during this quarantine. Might as well get better at everything, except going to the gym (sigh). 
> 
> Enjoy and happy apocalypse.


	13. A Long, Wonderful Hate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya prepares for the wedding, and sneaks out with Trystane for the bazaar again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else having trouble accomplishing anything, despite all the free time? Anyone else slowly sinking, sleeping more, eating less? 
> 
> Anyway, hope y'all like this. I'm building these two not lovebirds something nice. Please review!
> 
> Be safe everyone!

She ran in circles, testing her long missed muscles, the feeling so natural and yet still rusty. Having four legs again after so long felt strange, and she ran through the different gates as one would a horse, except she was inside. Arya was in Nymeria’s head, sometimes letting the direwolf have more control, just riding along, and sometimes completely taking over. She felt Nymeria’s feelings with her, reassuring the direwolf, giving her a feeling of trust. This was an intimate act, not a violation of the wolf’s will, and they were a team in this.

Arya had told Ellaria and Oberyn that she could warge, needing them to know all her strengths. Ellaria had chuckled until Jon Snow told her the same was true of himself. Oberyn had merely gone quiet, and then said that warg’s would now protect Dorne, and Dorne would protect her warges. Now, the wolves were a part of the plan, something which filled Arya with both pride and terror. 

It was in a small, gated off courtyard that Arya found she could practice her warging once again. She had explored Sunspear more thoroughly in the past two weeks, wanting to get more of an idea of what would be her battlefield. 

This courtyard was rarely used, not a godswood, as warewood trees wouldn’t grow this far south, but a dusty open circle with benches lining the walls. It was probably for trials by combat, or maybe entertaining small groups, but whatever it’s purpose, it would serve Arya’s. 

The yard was surrounded by low stone walls that came to just two feet above Arya’s head, a small wooden gate opening into it. She could shut the gate behind her and be alone, and slip back into her wolf’s skin. Given, she wanted more room, but she could easily shut herself in here and have Nymeria jump the low wall, crawl through the low tunnel which led out of Sunspear, and then be free to wander as she would. 

Despite the Martell’s now knowing, she still preferred to do her warging alone, where she could relish being a wolf in peace, and prepare.

Of course, she needed to get used to this again first, and so instead of romping off on some adventure, Arya sat still and used Nymeria to run in circles around the small enclosure. Dust was kicked up in the air, she felt it tickling her nose, but to be in Nymeria again, to feel the strength of her legs and her jaws, was magnificent. 

She would slow down, speed up, come to a stop and then take off again, maybe jump, never leaving the yard. But suddenly, she felt an arm on her shoulder, and she in Nymeria turned and lunged, jaws ready, only stopping mere inches from Prince Trystane.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What are you even doing in here?” demanded Arya, coming back to herself and pulling Nymeria off of the prince. He was shaken but unharmed, and he got back up to his feet, brushing the dust from himself.

“I heard someone in here, and climbed up to see. Came up and grabbed your shoulder ‘cause I couldn’t see who you were,” said Trystane, somewhat breathless. “And what in seven hells are you doing in here?”

Arya bit her lip at this inquiry, unsure how to answer, unsure whether to tell him, as well as embarrassed. She and the prince had been cold and curt since the wedding planning had gotten underway, Trystane saddened about the reason for her agreement. It hadn’t been designed out of coldheartedness, but using their wedding for this scheme felt like one more sad chapter in Trystane’s life. He had agreed to it solemnly, giving Arya a clumsy kiss on the hand and walking back to his quarters. 

That had been almost two months ago, and since then neither had said more than a few words to each other. It was just too awkward, even when Trystane tried to assure Arya that he was glad they were saving her sister, it came across as clumsy, like a commiseration. 

“I was practicing-” she said, stopping herself as she almost revealed her warging. Nymeria approached the prince and nosed at his hands, and he let her sniff him and gave her a gentle pet.

“What? Practicing what?” he asked, trying to figure out what he had seen. The wolf had been running, that was easy enough to tell, despite the blurriness of his vision. 

“Nothing,” said Arya, shaking her head. “I was just training Nymeria, getting ready.”

Trystane rolled his eyes, used to being out of the loop at this point. He continued to pet Nymeria, smiling as the direwolf licked his hands. 

“She’s nice,” he said, enjoying the feel of the wolf’s tightly shaven coat. “Hope once winter comes, she can have her fur grow out some.” 

This piqued Arya’s curiosity, and she crooked her head to the side. “What is winter like down here, anyway? I’ve never been through one,” she said, giving a shrug.

“I was small, but the days were more gray, and the weather was a bit cooler. We don’t get snow, but I remember, once, the rains coming, hard and for a long time. The sandy desert bloomed afterwards, I am told, although I don’t remember that part. What I really remember is cold winds, cutting through the night like a knife.”

Arya smiled and took Trystane’s hand in hers, stepping close enough that he could clearly see her face. “I’m sorry we’re ruining your wedding,” she muttered, feeling awkward about the whole thing.

Trystane let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well… if we survive, we’ll still be married. You can still live here with my cousins and I, and can help me with my duties as prince. We can go out to the dark bazaar, or take a trip to the water gardens, or even out riding or sailing, and you can defend Dorne. Being married won’t be so bad, and if we survive, we can properly get to know each other more.”

He seemed to be reassuring himself more than her, sad to be joined with someone who would never love him like he wanted. It was selfish on both their parts, but she understood where he came from.

Arya simply smiled, but then got an idea. “So it’ll be a few weeks before my brother arrives, and then several more for my sister and the royal family. Would you like to go out to the bazaar in the meantime, between preparing, I mean?” 

The prince smiled, happy to know that Arya was trying. “Yeah, I’d like that.” 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Because you’re joining our house and becoming a princess of Dorne, we’re doing multiple ceremonies,” explained Ellaria, walking Arya through the sept in Sunspear. It was a large room, with seven walls and an elderly septum who was rarely seen outside of the sept, preferring to spend his days reading, and if the rumors were true, drinking. 

The room was almost immaculate, not often touched except to be swept or have the large, intricately carved wooden shutters opened and closed by servants. The marble floors were adorned with mosaics of opals and mother of pearl, the figures of the seven behind the altar almost as tall as those within the great sept of Baylor. 

Arya sat on a bench, listening absentmindedly as Ellaria walked her through the customs. In order to keep their true intentions under wraps, it was decided to have the young Stark actually wed. Of course, to make the marriage legitimate to both the Dornish, the royal court, and the North, not one ceremony would need to take place, but three. 

“So after the vows in front of the faith of the seven, you will walk outside and do a R’llor ceremony, cut short because although there will be guests here who practice that faith, we officially follow the Seven. Now, finally, you will say your vows to the unnamed gods to the north afterwards, and then we can begin the feast and festivities.” Ellaria explained this as if she couldn’t wait to get past the religious stuff. In fact, it was well known that Dorne was much looser with their morals than the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. 

“What of after?” asked Arya, uncertainly, trying to think through their plan and make sure that all was arranged. 

At this, Ellaria grinned, pleased with her cunning. Arya had not been informed of every step of the plan, in order to make any inquiries more difficult. All she needed to know, she knew, and beside that, she was to play the perfect bride, something which she was doing with great difficulty. 

“After that, we put our plan into action. All we need from you is what we discussed. Can you do that, love?” asked Ellaria, placing a hand gently on Arya’s shoulder.

Arya nodded, crinkling her brow in worry. Ellaria was about to say something, when someone came into the room carrying several sheets of long fabric, and Arya’s heart sank even more. She hated these fittings more than anything, but she had a role to play. 

“We need to take more measurements,” muttered the servant, and Arya sighed, submitting herself to the seamstresses of Dorne. She truly hoped that saving Sansa would be worth this. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The cold night was dark and still as Arya waited for Trystane, who appeared at the agreed upon spot a little late.

“What took you so long?” asked Arya, to which Trystane laughed. 

“Why, you in some kind of hurry?”

Arya just rolled her eyes, to which the prince laughed. “You know I have to be up close to see facial expressions,” he snickered, as they got down and crawled through the tunnel. Arya didn’t know how to make a comeback to that, unsure how to convey that expressing exasperation out loud just wasn’t as potent. Still, once they got on the road, it was nice being together.

Trystane kept his arm around her shoulder, ‘for the sake of a poor blind kid.’

When they got into town and had bought some meat skewers, Arya asked how they were to find the dark bazaar.

“That’s the thing, you need to be lost to find it,” replied the prince, with a cocky smile. “Luckily, I’m an expert at getting lost.”

Arya couldn’t argue with the second part of that, and munching her skewer, (pungent and sour) she allowed the prince to lead, and before long they really were lost. 

“Well, you were right about your skill at losing your way,” she laughed, glad to have company on this outing. 

But before the prince could come up with a cocky reply, they both noticed the eerie blue glow of the lamps. 

“Just remember, no stealing this time. We’re here to explore and learn of anything which can give us an advantage,” whispered Arya, holding tightly onto the prince’s arm. As much as she hated to say it, this place did frighten her. 

This was not unreasonable, the market being otherworldly and mysterious in ways that even frightened the locals. People didn’t so much find it as stumble across it, and once inside, it was hard to find one’s way out. The sellers were from all over, their foreignness not so frightening as their wares. Even mundane things such as flowers for sale could have a hint of something sinister about them.

They walked in relative silence, except for when Arya would describe what they were passing, her whispering it in Trystane’s ear and keeping a good distance from the various carts and tents.

“The bug seller is holding a jar with a green beetle with long, twisting horns that meet and merge. There’s a man selling eels in a tank that he says can kill you with a touch, and there’s a jewelry seller,” said Arya. The prince wanted to see the jeweler’s wares, and so Arya and Trystane stopped at his booth. The jewelry was a lot less boring than Arya would have thought, angry black gems with edges that cut, or thick leather bracelets one could attach their weapon to. 

“Never drop your sword,” explained the jeweler, proud as she showed Arya how she used the bracelet to help hide a knife in her sleeve.

The prince looked very closely at the jewelry, straining his eyes as he peered closely, stopping at the sight of a silver ring with a deep blue gemstone. What caught his attention was the ring had a wolf image on it, clearly made from a specially forged mould. He picked it up and examined it more closely, pressing the wolf’s nose with his finger. At this, the gem popped back, mounted in a hinge; a needle was mounted beneath it.

“You have good tastes. This ring is used for carrying out assassinations, made specifically for a faceless man to use on a targeted northman over one hundred years ago. The basilisk venom the needle holds is still potent.” The seller explained this with a sweet, lilting voice, clearly proud of the thing. 

Even Arya, who was normally bored to tears by jewels, was speechless. She looked at it closely, but before she could ask how much, Prince Trystane was already haggling about the price, insistent that such a story was exaggerated. 

In the end, he paid forty gold dragons rather than fifty, and before Arya knew what was happening, she found herself being led away with the ring on her finger, admiring it despite herself.

“Thought I should give you a wedding present,” he shrugged, holding Arya’s hand in his.

“My mother would approve, if the secret is kept from her,” she smiled, realizing that she needed to find Trystane a gift. “What would you like?”

He hadn’t an answer, so they kept walking, the strange sellers getting somewhat creepier as they went. A emaciated looking man selling what he claimed were real dragon bones, a red priest from Essos with jars of fire he claimed would never go out, a masked figure with a table covered in pieces of black, oily rock. 

Suddenly, a smell drew them both toward one seller’s tent, a potions peddler. 

“Good luck, revenge, success, youth, courage, I’ve got it all,” called the seller, a dwarf in an orange hat standing on a stool behind the counter.

They looked at his potions, some in giant barrels, some in tiny vials holding no more than a spoonful. 

“Don’t you have something for height?” asked Arya, cocking her head to the side. “If you can bottle success, why not make yourself taller?”

“My dear girl, a good seller never tastes of his own potions. It’s bad luck,” chirped the dwarf, tugging at his own beard in reproach.

“How much for the success?” asked Arya, changing the topic.

“That is complicated. One must buy enough for all involved to drink a goblet full. If you were to fight a battle, you would need every one of your soldiers to drink some, plus all the smiths who make their armor and swords. If you are selling an item, then only oneself. But if a complicated plan were in the works, I cannot say,” he sniffed, patting the barrel fondly. “It’s one hundred dragons a cup, and if anyone involved is missed, then failure is imminent.”

Arya and Trystane looked at each other nervously, decidedly against something which would remove all chances of success if they missed even one person. 

“What else you got?” asked the prince, looking around the small stall.

“I’ve got bounty, beauty, health, wealth, mercy, good judgment, strength, poise, stealth, and love, among others. Those are the most popular,” said the dwarf, proudly.

Arya and the prince looked at each other, uncertainly. “What do you think of love?” asked Arya, biting her lip.

“What?” asked Trystane, somewhat startled

“I mean, if we survive, it would be easier being married if we’re in love, right?” she asked, shrugging. 

“I don’t want to force you,” insisted the prince, horrified. 

“If I choose to drink the potion, you’re not forcing me,” she replied, looking back at the dwarf. It was a scary prospect, and she didn’t know how it would make her behave, but she was stealing the prince’s wedding and the rest of his life. If they could love each other, it would be a better life. 

“How does love work?” asked ARya, tentatively. 

“It’s simple. You just tell each other your deepest secret, and then drink. You can’t know the secret beforehand. Three stags, the stuff sells but hardly works. People either lie or already know,” said the dwarf, shaking his head in disapproval.

Arya looked at Trystane and grinned, determined now. She leaned over and put her lips to his ear. “I’m a warge,” she whispered, plainly, realizing it felt good to tell him. “I can ride inside of my direwolf, become her.”

Trystane stepped back and shook his head in shock, but nodded. “I’ve read about those. You’ll have to show me. Arya, it won’t work.”

Arya was about to ask why, but then her smile slowly faded as she realized that she already knew his greatest secret. 

“Oh, sorry,” she muttered, turning from the dwarf’s booth.

“It’s okay,” said Trystane as they walked on. “You would really do that for me, though?”

“Yeah, we’re stuck together, might as well make the most of it,” said Arya, leaning over and kissing Trystane playfully. Taken aback, a small grin slowly crept over Trystane’s face. 

“Too bad I have to hate you forever now,” muttered Arya, leaning her head on Trystane’s arm as they walked, tired and scared but deep down happy.

“That’s okay,” replied Trystane, putting his arm around her shoulder as he got them lost again in order to get out of the bazaar. “Let’s just hope it’ll be a long, wonderful hate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would love to hear from y'all on this! Comment and tell me what you think. 
> 
> I love all of you and want everyone to be safe and take care of themselves. It's getting harder to keep going, but the only way is through.


	14. He Who Knew Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb and Roslyn arrive at Sunspear. Jon and Theon hatch a plan to get Robb into Jon's bed. It works

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have finished school. hopefully won't have to worry about anything until all this ends. Huzzah? I have more time to write, but I'm afraid of running out of things to do. This is ridiculous. 
> 
> Anyway, wanted a big happy fuck chapter. Enjoy!

When the ship first was sighted one morning, the announcement was made and Arya and Jon were ready before the sun was even fully up. None could tell them to be patient, that it was an hour before high tide and that they would have to wait, and the two were out at the docks before the ship had even pulled into harbor. Their direwolves followed them like shadows, seeming to sense their masters’ excitement. Arya brought Small Claw, her merlin hawk wearing a mask and perching on her gloved arm; she was excited to show her brother that she could still hunt. 

They stood on the dock and waved and shouted as the ship pulled into harbor, unable to contain themselves at the prospect of seeing some of their family again. When the plank was finally let down and they both got a glimpse of Robb, both let out loud whoops of excitement. He waved back but hesitated from descending the gangplank, which confused Arya and Jon until Roslyn came into view. They then saw as Roslyn was led down the gangplank by Robb and Theon, how unsteady they seemed on their feet after over two months at sea, but it still seemed strange that Roslyn required two men to help her off of the ship. 

It took Arya and Jon a moment to realize that clutched to her breast was a baby, and their shouts wavered out until the small party set foot upon the dock.

“Gods, you brought Roslyn?” asked Jon, suddenly realizing how rude that sounded. “I meant, we didn’t think it would be safe for you, sweet sister, and, um..”

“Oh, we didn’t mean to, not intentionally,” said Robb, ruffling his wife’s hair and eliciting a laugh from both her and Theon. 

“I can’t believe it, I’m an aunt!” yelled Arya, running up to Roslyn and reaching out, taking the babe from Roslyn’s arms and holding it the way she used to do with Rickon. “I’m gonna teach you how to fight with a lance, and how to ride, and hunt.” 

Her merlin hawk was still perched on her arm, and Roslyn found herself chasing after Arya to get her child away from the bird’s sharp talons.

“Good luck getting him back,” said Jon, chuckling at the sight. 

“No greetings for me?” asked Theon, coming in and attacking Jon with a very unwanted hug. 

“And you’re here because…?” asked Jon, escaping from Theon’s arms and embracing his brother, giving him a kiss on the cheek, almost without thinking. 

The kiss made shivers go down Robb’s spine, and he coughed, awkwardly, unsure how his brother had meant it. 

But before things could get awkward, Theon cut in again. “Because your brother didn’t trust me in the North watching Bran and taking care of Winterfell,” he sneered, looking above their heads as if talking to the air.

“I was wrong,” put in Robb, taking Jon’s hand in his, wanting him to know that he was earnest. “Jon, whatever problems you have with Theon, please put them aside. It’s because of him and his upbringing on Pyke that your nephew is healthy and safe, as well as my love Roslyn.”

Jon Snow backed up and looked at Theon up and down, and saw the way that Robb placed his arm around Theon’s waist. It was just a touch, but the sight made his heart sink, but he hid it away and turned back to Sunspear. 

“Come, we must begin planning immediately,” said Jon walking and leading the men off the dock and toward the castle. 

“Are we having a bit of jealousy, Snow?” asked Theon, putting a hand on Jon’s shoulder and resting his chin there. “Robb and I have become closer than ever, but you’ll have plenty of time to catch up, I’m sure.” 

“Why, you,” started Jon, turning to strike at Theon with his fist, only for Theon to lean forward and kiss him on the mouth. Jon wanted to push him back, but the touch felt sincere, and all his hatred for Theon was pushed aside as he realized that Theon wasn’t toying with him, but genuinely wanted to kiss him. Maybe Theon had always wanted this, at least a little. He saw all the things Theon did, all to be noticed by him and anyone else who would see him, negative attention being better than none. And before he realized it, Jon was kissing him back, opening his mouth and moaning as Theon’s tongue met his. 

Robb watched with a smile on his face, beginning to sweat in his heavy northern clothes, and from the sight of these two beautiful men kissing so passionately in front of him. 

Theon broke the kiss, and then looked at Jon intently, as if deciding what to do with him. “Jon Snow, down here in the sand,” he said, and then gave Jon a gentle push and suddenly Jon was on his back, Theon getting down and straddling him. Theon could feel Jon growing hard, the thin, loose pants he wore not hiding much. 

“And what’s this, the bastard has developed a Dornish taste for sex, just like I thought he would, eh Robb?” laughed Theon.

The mention of his brother’s name brought Jon out of the moment, and he turned to look at Robb, expecting him to appear disgusted. Instead, Robb leaned down and kissed Theon on the mouth, closing his eyes for a moment and cupping his face in his hands.

“I must catch up with my wife. Why don’t you two take some time together, and I’ll see you both at Sunspear,” and with that he strode away, leaving Jon and Theon half naked in the sand. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So I didn’t read that wrong, between you and Robb?” asked Jon, sitting in one of Sunspear’s many outdoor pools. He had always enjoyed the hot springs in Winterfell, but these were different from what he was used to. The water had to be heated if one wanted it warm, but then no one would want a hot bath outside in Dorne unless it was a cool winter night.. The water was cool, with aloe and other fragrant oils mixed in, and it trickled down from fountains in the middle of the pools. Relaxing, but still strange to Jon, who missed the heat of the hot springs easing the ache in his back. Still, it was nice, especially on particularly hot days, like this one was turning out to be.

“No, we’ve been experimenting, on the ship,” said Theon, giving a shrug like it was nothing. 

“And what turn of events led my perfect brother to stray?” asked Jon, incredulous.

“Oh, that’s easy. After Roslyn gave birth, she needed to physically recover. She’s still recovering, no sex for a few more weeks. There’s almost nothing for someone as unskilled at seafaring as your brother to do onboard a ship, so Robb and I, well… nature took its course, with Roslyn’s blessing, I might add.”

“What?” asked Jon, eyes wide. It seemed his family was more Southern than he had realized.

“Well, yes. You see, Roslyn is a bit of a minx, or did you forget her bedding? Undid her own bodice before even being halfway up the stairs. In fact, once she’s well enough, Robb says he’ll gladly share,” said Theon raising his eyebrows suggestively.

Jon got quiet at this, sad that it seemed his family had bonded in such ways without him there. Granted, he never would have been brave enough to try anything before Dorne. Before Dorne, he had thought that he had to prove that he wasn’t a lusty bastard, but now, lust wasn’t bad. He was able to express desire, so maybe he could content himself there.

His musings were interrupted, however, by Theon waving his hand in front of him. “Snow, you’re drifting off like you’ve had a draft of dream wine. Now tell me what’s on your mind, or you won’t get a taste of this pretty ass again while I’m down here.”

“Oh, my apologies, Greyjoy. I… you and Robb, it’s just difficult to see, is all,” he muttered, not wanting to incite the onslaught of disgust that this was sure to invoke from Theon.

“I thought you southerner’s were all about sharing? Well I’m not married to him, you know. He can share Roslyn between three,” quipped Theon. However, upon seeing the look on Jon’s face, he realized that he had it wrong. “Oh, yikes, Jon, I didn’t realize. Listen, it may come as a surprise to you, but I think Robb feels the same way.”

“And how would you know that? The heir to Winterfell would never admit to such a thing,” said Jon, worried that Theon was just toying with him.

“He talks in his sleep. Roslyn knows too,” said Theon, matter of factly. “He also once called me by your name while I was fucking him.”

Jon gaped at him, aghast, but after a moment to think about it, allowed himself to get excited. It wasn’t like he thought that this would ever lead to anything, but the thought that maybe Robb shared his feelings was a joy to think about, nonetheless.

“Look, you drowned fool, if you really want him, then you tell him,” said Theon, turning and resting his head on his hands on the edge of the pool.

“I can’t just tell him,” said Jon, horrified. “It’s not that simple.”

“Okay, well, I might have a plan. He certainly approves of you and I, so why not play it up tonight at dinner. You both try and flirt with me, and then start directing it toward him,” said Theon, smirking at his own brilliance. 

Jon thought for a moment, thinking of how it could work. Robb knowing that they had both been with Greyjoy, a horrifying notion mere hours before, and maybe that could lead into a less scary way of letting Robb know. If Robb would go for someone like Greyjoy, maybe… Jon cut off that train of thought, due not only to trying to change his view on the ward of Winterfell, but also because Robb had just walked outside wrapped in a light silken robe. 

“Hello, Lord Stark. We were just talking about you,” said Theon with a shit eating grin. 

“Oh, good things I hope,” said Robb, untying his robe and stepping naked into the pool. It seemed this cool bath had gotten a lot hotter, at least to Jon Snow. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Theon clenched his hole around the cold metal plug, biting his lip as he adjusted to the feeling, never having had anything inside of him before besides one or two fingers 

Jon stood behind him, pulling his pants back up for Theon and resting his hands on his hips, steadying. 

“You ready, Snow?” asked Theon, smirking. 

“No, but we can’t be late,” muttered Jon, letting go and walking toward the door. Theon followed, every now and then sighing at the feel of the plug, trying to keep a calm face. 

“I never thought you’d agree to something like this,” muttered Jon, stopping behind a pillar before they entered the dining room.

“That shows just how little you know me, Snow. I’m up for anything,” grinned Greyjoy, teasingly. At this, Jon nodded, and stepped out into the dinning room.

All were present, the Sand Snakes, Arya, Trystane, Oberyn and Ellaria, and sitting side by side were Robb and Roslyn. 

They were dressed differently, Robb in blue Dornish robes, seeming to blend into the culture seamlessly. That was always Robb, an anxious mess who didn’t want all this power, depressed by the weight he bore, but would paint on a smile and do whatever it took to please whoever he needed to please. Jon smiled as he thought about how Robb always went the distance for everyone, trained from birth of duty and honor. Roslyn sat by his side, her legs tucked up underneath her and her hair braided down her back. She wore a light green dress, and leaned on Robb as Jon and Theon took their seats.

“Good to see you two getting on,” said Robb, smiling at Jon and Theon. 

“Famously so,” said Theon, sitting down on his cushion and leaning over so that he rested on Jon.

“Where’s Donner?” asked Arya, looking at Roslyn with a sad expression.

“Being fed and put to bed by a wet nurse. We agreed that I needed a break,” said Roslyn, giving a relieved sigh.

“You can play with him tomorrow,” said Robb, somewhat sternly. The hawk incident hadn’t sat well with him, but he understood that Arya was excited to be an aunt. 

“Okay, enough catching up, who’s hungry?” asked Oberyn, picking up a plate of kidney stew on top of garbanzo beans and passing it around. 

The food was somewhat less spicy than usual, Arya noted, but when asked, was told it was for Roslyn’s sake.

“So you’re saying that all I’d have to do to avoid a burnt tongue is have a baby?” she asked, shaking her head. “Not worth it.”

“But you love your nephew so much,” chirped Roslyn, amused at Arya’s position about having children. 

“Yes, because there’s people I can give him back to,” said Arya, simply, enjoying the break from the burning furnace that was usually Dornish food. Despite being toned down, it was still quite spicy for the northerners. Theon bit into what looked like an olive, realizing too late it was stuffed with fire pepper paste. He spluttered and started panting as sweat ran down his face. Jon gave him some goat cheese, feeding it to the Ironborn and giving Obella a knowing wink. 

As Theon calmed, Jon gave him a kiss on the cheek, spying Robb watching him. The look in his eyes, Jon desperately hoped, was that of want. 

“Are you jealous of your brother all over Theon?” whispered Roslyn into Robb’s ear, loud enough for everyone to hear. 

“I, um…” sputtered Robb, rubbing the back of his neck in a fashion quite similar to Jon. He shook his head and picked up a spoonful of the creamy fish soup he was eating. “Theon, do you ever miss the seafood from the Iron Islands?” he asked, leaning over across the table with the spoon in hand

Theon leaned across the table and sipped the offered soup, licking his lips in a way that could only be described as obscene. “Oh, that is a taste of home, if home had spices and these types of fish.”

Robb gave him a look, and Theon settled back in his seat, but then the plug rubbed deep inside of him and he gave a gasp.

Jon wrapped his arm around him, offering him bites of food with his free hand. Robb watched the two, occasionally catching a glance from them. Roslyn kept bringing his attention back, however, as she offered him delicacies off of her plate. She fed Robb some grapes, smiling as he kissed her fingers as she fed them to him one by one. 

“I’ve always wanted to try Dornish food. I never thought it would be so… sensual,” she said, catching Robb’s mouth with hers. 

“Arya just gaped at them, noticing how Jon was touching Theon, how Theon squirmed, and how Robb was looking at Jon, Theon, and Roslyn. The whole thing was a mess in her mind, and she tried to ignore them. Maybe once they got it out of their system, they could hunt or fight or explore together. Plan for the wedding, be a family. But for now, she could tell that they were all pent up, years of sexual tension and denial coming to a head.

“I hope once we’re married, we don’t act like this,” she said to Trystane, who couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Gods no, we’ll be a team, not all over each other like these horny animals,” he whispered back.

“Wait, how can you tell?” asked Arya, trying to figure out the distance between her brothers and the Prince.

“Even I can see how desperate they are,” said Trystane, shaking his head.

Suddenly, Theon gave another loud gasp, Robb and Roslyn watching hungrily as Jon bit at the Ironborn’s neck. 

“Theon,” said Roslyn, acting coy but wanting in on this game her men were playing. “After dinner, I think I’ll need for you to look at me again, for the sake of my health.”

“With pleasure, my lady,” said Theon, smarmy as ever as he leaned over the table to once again take a proffered morsel from Robb.

“Enough!” And the tension was suddenly cut, Oberyn standing up and getting the attention of all present. “My guests, friends, I’m afraid this teasing has gone too far. My young daughters are here, the youngest barely eleven. Please, I can see that you miss each other, and some banter of this sort is fine. But this is becoming too much. Now, I think it is clear that Robb and Jon have some things to clear up between them. I’ll have some wine and desserts sent up to Robb and Roslyn’s quarters. I suggest that is where you go.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They walked in silence, tension building until reaching Robb and Roslyn’s guest room. It felt like tipping over the edge, this feeling like the two brothers were about to have it out. But when all were inside and the door shut behind them, without a word, Robb lunged forward and attacked Jon’s lips with his.

Jon moaned into the feeling, the brush of Robb’s beard scratching his face 

“I have waited…” started Robb, cutting himself off by kissing Jon. “...to taste those lips for years, brother.”

Jon grasped at the back of Robb’s head, trying to pull him closer. He wanted to breathe him in, the scent so alluring. Robb still smelled of the North, of summer snows and heavy forests. So engrossed, he was, that it took Roslyn grasping both of their arms to pull them apart. 

“May I cut in?” she asked, her cheeks a shade of red neither men had seen since her arrival in Winterfell almost two years prior. She seemed shy, girlish, but smiled in her warm way as she stood on her toes to kiss Jon gently, who chuckled into the kiss.

“Hey, remember what we talked about?” came Theon’s voice, laying a hand gently on Roslyn’s shoulder.

“Oh, I know. But if you three are going to be having fun tonight, I am not missing the show,” she chuckled, her resolve clear on her face.

At this, Robb wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed the back of his wife’s neck. “The she wolf, always taking what she wants.”

“Always,” she teased back, turning around and beginning to undo the ties on Robb’s robe, letting the outer jacket fall from his shoulders.

At this, Jon started to undress as well, and Theon went for his neck, stopping his hands and undoing his belts as he sucked hickies into his skin.

“This way, Snow,” moaned Theon, biting at Jon’s ear and walking him toward the large bed in the center of the room. 

Like the others, the room was plush and draped with silks. This one also had a couch for lying on, and cushions on the floor as well as an empty crib in one corner, added hastily upon Roslyn’s surprise arrival. 

Robb threw his robes to the floor and started undressing Theon, kissing the back of his neck and sighing into the feeling. “Been wanting both of you since adolescence. I missed being kids, having us all share a bed. Remember how we used to compare size with each other?” and with that, he reached his hand down Theon’s pants, wrapping his hand around Theon’s cock. 

Theon thrust his hips forward, wanting more, and Jon went down and pulled his pants to the floor. 

“Never took you for a sword swallower, Theon,” muttered Jon, sticking out his tongue and licking the tip of Theon’s hardening length, Robb’s hand still grasping it tight.. 

“Really? Because I always took you for one, Snow,” muttered Theon, gasping at the feel of Jon’s warm mouth.

Jon raised an eyebrow at him, standing back up and pulling off his shirt and letting his pants drop to the ground, kicking them away. 

“Mmmm,” hummed Roslyn in approval, falling gracefully backwards onto the couch and watching as Jon shed his small clothes. 

“Oh Jon, my wife likes what she sees” whispered Robb, running his hands down Jon’s chest and feeling the curve of his ass. He then spanked him, hard enough to make a loud crack, causing Jon to gasp out loud. 

Robb then pushed Jon down onto the bed, tossing away the rest of his own clothes and joining him, reveling in the feeling of his bare skin against Jon’s. Then, Theon was at his back, pressing his lips to Robb’s ear.

Jon kissed Robb desperately, wanting him closer. The scratch of his beard and body hair against him felt nicer than he could have thought, and the feel of their lengths together was almost more than he could handle.

“Robb,” he gasped between kisses, trying to get his breath. “How do you want to… have you ever even had someone inside you before?” he asked, uncertain. As much as he wanted his brother, the thought of being his first somewhat scared him, as he didn’t want to hurt Robb. 

“Theon,” he muttered, kissing Jon again at the surprised look on Jon’s face.

“Thought all I could do was swallow, didn’t you?” asked Theon, playful yet antagonizing. 

“But you… have you…” began Jon, unsure of what he wanted to ask. Theon just grinned.

“I’m still waiting for my turn to bottom, but I think tonight you need to hurry up and fuck your brother.”

“Why, you,” started Jon, but Robb placed his hand on his shoulder firmly, and the touch calmed him. He was about to fuck his brother, after all. 

“We need oil,” said Robb, getting up and looking about the room. Theon leaned up on his arm and watched, pleased with the sight, and caught Roslyn’s eyes and winked at her.

“Top drawer, next to the bed,” said Jon, nodding as Robb opened the drawer and held up a vial.

“How did you know?” asked Theon, incredulous. 

“I’ve been here a while,” he said, simply, causing both Theon and Robb to burst out laughing.

Jon just sat there, starting to turn red. “It’s not funny.”

“We’re sorry, Jon. It’s just, we used to know you as someone who wore his honor on his sleeve. You were so afraid of being seen as lustful, wanting to join the Night’s Watch,” laughed Robb, sitting back down on the bed and starting over toward Jon, holding his prize in one hand.

“What your esteemed brother is trying to say,” said Theon, standing up on his knees. “Is that you used to be such a prude. Now, I don’t know about you two, but I’ve had this plug inside of me for nearly an hour. Please do something to me before I explode.”

At this, Jon sat up and pushed Theon down onto his chest, letting him feel his hard cock near his bum. 

“Theon,” he teased, kissing down his back and then spreading his legs with his hands. Theon got up on his knees, leaning back into Jon’s touch. “Did Robb ever play with you down there? Is that plug the biggest thing you’ve had inside of you?” At this, he pressed on the base of the plug, causing a shiver to run through Theon’s body, who whined out something that sounded like a yes to both inquiries.

“I didn’t neglect him. He just likes drawing things out, exploring slowly,” said Robb, leaning down and kissing Theon passionately. Meanwhile, Jon continued to toy with the plug, running his fingers around the rim, until he decidedly grabbed it and pulled it out with a pop.

“Gods, Jon, yes,” whined Theon, angling back against him. Jon uncorked the bottle of oil and poured some onto his fingers, circling them around Theon’s now empty hole. 

“Want something, Theon?” he whispered.

“Please,” begged the man under him, to which Jon decided to give him what he wanted, and started to dip first one, and then another finger inside of him.

“Fuck, yes,” gasped Theon, trembling as the fingers got past the ring of muscle, deeper than the plug. Jon crooked his fingers, fucking them in and out of Theon’s tight heat.

Robb, meanwhile, started coating his own fingers in oil, reaching behind himself, beginning to finger his hole open.

“Yes, touch yourself,” murmured Jon, before leaning forward and adding his tongue in with his fingers. At this, Theon started scratching at the bed sheets, wanton and desperate. 

“So pretty, love,” cooed Roslyn, still lounging on the couch, hitching up her dress and reaching down between her legs. 

Robb gazed at her adoringly, but his attention was brought back to the men next to him when a loud, yelp like scream came out of Theon, and he knew that Jon had found that place inside of him. 

“Yes, right there. Please, Jon,” he begged, his cock now leaking. Jon obliged, lapping at his hole in earnest and fucking him with his fingers.

Theon continued to whine and beg and scratch, but just before he was about to reach his peak, Robb grabbed Jon by the hair, pulling him up and his hand away.

“He almost came. Don’t want that quite yet,” he murmured, kissing Jon on his wet, slick mouth.

“You fucking tease, you think I like going slow,” complained Theon, to which Robb smacked him hard on the ass, leaving a red hand print behind. 

“Oh, you know that you like it,” he said, smirking. “Besides, my brother has yet to have me, nor see what I can do with my mouth.” At this, Theon shuddered, getting up on wobbly knees.

At this, Robb kissed Jon again, running his hand through his thick, curly hair. “Please, brother. I’ve wanted you for so long, as shameful as that is back home. Your messenger Obara tells me it’s okay here, and none will judge us. So please, fuck me,” he said, turning around and getting on his knees, baring himself for Jon. 

Jon gulped at the sight, realizing that he was about to fuck the heir to Winterfell. It was actually what he’d always wanted, to make love to him. This wasn’t defilement, he realized, but love of where he belonged and who he belonged with. So he settled between Robb’s legs, lining up his hard member with his brother’s slick hole. 

“Want this?” he asked, leaning over Robb, who was kissing Theon’s torso, grasping his cock in his hand.

“Yes,” Robb begged, so Jon kissed the back of his neck as he pushed inside of him. Robb was warm around him, tight and clenching as he bottomed out.

“Jon,” gasped Robb, to which Theon cupped his face and fed his dick into his mouth. Anything Robb said after that was muffled by Theon, who’s eyes were shut in concentration.

Jon slowly pulled out and grasped Robb’s thighs as he pushed back in, savoring the feeling. He looked up and saw the expression on Theon’s face, his eyes tight shut as he thrust in and out of Robb’s mouth.

“Mmmh, you don’t have to be gentle. He likes it rough, in fact,” Theon managed, pulling at Robb’s hair.

“Is that so?” asked Jon, speeding up a little, not wanting it to end too soon, but loving the way in which Robb reacted, pressing back against his length like he never wanted to be empty of him again.

Jon angled himself, spreading Robb’s thighs wider and getting in deeper, only for Robb to whine around Theon’s cock and to grasp desperately about him. He was almost coming apart, sweat dripping down his face, his pretty lips stretched by Theon’s cock, and clenching around Jon greedily, wanting more.

“Yes,” murmured Roslyn, her hand on her naked sex for all to see. She worked at her clit fervently, biting her lip as she watched her husband taken by these two beautiful men. 

Knowing that she was enjoying the show just turned Jon on even more, if that were at all possible, and he thrust harder.

Robb gasped out around Theon, Jon hitting his prostate and causing him to have trouble supporting himself. Theon was hitting the back of his throat, and he could barely get a breath, and Jon inside of him was just so much. He felt full, and held, and the warmth of it was all enveloping. Then, he got a wicked idea, and reached a hand around to finger at Theon’s now loose hole. 

“Fuck yes,” gasped Theon, clenching around Robb’s fingers. He was petting his hair, fucking his throat harder as Robb worked two fingers into him. His chest was tightening up, and Theon knew he was close, and when Robb dipped in a third finger and hit his prostate, he was done for. 

Theon stilled as he came hard down Robb’s throat, pulling at his hair as he called out. 

Jon slowed, almost pulling out himself as he watched Theon pull out and a line of drool and come ran down his brother’s chin, Robb gasping for breath. 

“Don’t stop,” Robb managed between breaths, and Jon sped up again to nearly the same pace, mesmerized by the sight of Theon blissed out on the bed in front of them. He seemed vulnerable, pretty even, as he recovered. But then a wicked grin came to the Ironborn’s face, and he reached out and put his hand around Robb’s throat, tight.

“He likes being choked,” he explained, Robb arching his back as his air was cut off once again.

“Does he now?” asked Jon, giving a harsh thrust. Robb groaned in pleasure as he felt Theon’s grip on this throat tighten, too blissed out on Jon’s cock to think about how ludicrous it was that weeks before, he would have been afraid of treachery from the Ironborn had he brought up choking. But now, he leaned into Theon’s grasp as Jon continued to hit that spot inside of him, making his eyesight go cloudy. 

“Come for me, Robb,” Jon whispered in his ear, grasping at Robb’s shoulder’s and kissing the back of his neck. “Come on just my cock.” It only took another few thrusts and Robb was coming undone under him, Theon letting go of his throat and the rush of oxygen causing him to come harder than he ever had. 

“Jon,“ he gasped, trembling with his release, and then he felt Jon come inside of him, still thrusting, as if to get his cum deeper. Jon bit at his shoulder, harsh enough to leave marks as he stilled, both men seizing up in the height of their ecstasy.

Then, they both collapsed, Jon curling up behind Robb and pulling him close. 

“Hmmm, brother. I never would have guessed,” whispered Jon, to which Theon snickered. 

“That’s because you’re thick in the head,” he laughed, to which Robb gave Theon a lazy swat. “Behave, Theon, or else Jon won’t get to see what kind of a slut for cocksucking you are.”

Theon was about to feign begging, but he was cut off by the noises coming from Roslyn.

“Ahhh,” she gasped, coming with her fingers on her clit, pinching a nipple through the thin fabric of her dress.

All four sat for a few minutes in satisfied silence, until a knock got their attention, and Roslyn stood up briskly, fixing her dress and walking with an air of grace to the door.

She was greeted by a servant who handed her a tray laden with various items, and she turned back to the bed, carrying it with her. 

“It seems dessert is here,” she said, laying the tray on a low table. “And they have sent us up some warm towels, how thoughtful.” she tossed a warm, damp towel to her husband, the towel landing square on his face, to which both Jon and Theon started laughing. Roslyn then got up on the bed and wiped at Robb’s swollen lips, leaning in and kissing them.

“I’ll serve the wine, but first, I need to clean up too,” and at that, she fed her fingers into Robb’s open mouth, who sucked on them, savoring the taste of her.

She then withdrew them and slid off the bed, pouring wine and handing out cups. Along with the wine were pastries made from thin dough stuffed with nuts, desert plums ripe with juice, melon drizzled with honey, and a sharp sheep’s milk cheese. They fed each other contentedly, savoring not just the desserts, but each other. They all knew that this wouldn’t last, that in the coming weeks, once the royal family arrived, they must resume propriety and act out their plan to rescue Sansa. 

Still, they had this, and if all went well and they all survived, thought Jon, maybe they could all be together, and for the first time since he could remember, Jon Snow let himself be fully happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope that y'all enjoyed! Please review and tell me what you think. I figured Robb had to have something to do onboard the ship heading for Sunspear, and so it occurred to me that he and Theon might have gotten closer. 
> 
> Anyway, hope that this didn't ruffle too many feathers. I should clear up that in real life, I realize that incest is wrong because of power imbalances, grooming, and mutant children. But this is my fantasy and GRR Martin has already broken the seal on this, so there's no turning back. Let's just hope that he spends his time writing while in isolation. I have heard that he's stuck at home with no distractions and intends to release The Winds of Winter at some point this year. 
> 
> Happy Apocalypse!


	15. Dancing and Snakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The arrival of the royal family approaches, and preparations for the wedding continue, but Oberyn reveals that he may have his own reasons for things. Arya needs to learn how to knock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have graduated college. Hooray. 
> 
> Honestly, I'm just glad that I am focusing on this and have a better idea of what's coming next. Please forgive my slow pace here, I'm just having trouble doing things in a general sense. 
> 
> So I wanted to throw a few monkey wrenches into the gears right before the royal family, including Sansa and Joffrey, and Arya's mother with Ned, show up. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Roslyn was in a dark room, small and closing in on her on all sides. She was there as punishment, in there since slapping away her uncle’s hands, her father angered that she would raise a hand to any man in the family. 

‘He wasn’t gonna take your honor, love. They all know not to do that,’ words of little comfort that echoed in her brain

She had begged him to find her a match, to be sent away, but she was the most desirable Frey girl. She was their prize, not to be given to just anyone. 

‘Please, father, pick someone,’ she said, trying not to sound desperate to escape, thinking anywhere was better than at the Twins.

‘You are a little golden child. Your sisters and cousins will not be offered what we will receive for you, be patient.’

So she had, waiting until she was sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, until her father had agreed to a marriage pact with the Starks, the rulers of the North. 

But until then, she was in a dark room, hands grabbing at her from all sides, the walls still shrinking inward…

“Roslyn…”

“No,” she said, sinking back against the wall in the dark.

“Roslyn…”

“No, please!”

Roslyn!”

She awoke with a start, Robb leaning over her, a worried look on his face. She took a deep breath, taking in her surroundings. She was in Dorne, she was with Robb, she was loved by many, had a real family now, had a baby…

“You were crying in your sleep,” said Robb, embracing Roslyn as she leaned into his touch. 

“I was back with my father at the Twins. I was…” she started, a shiver running down her spine.

“You don’t have to explain,” he said, reaching out and wiping a tear from her face.

She nodded, rolling over and facing him, her wolf, her protector. Roslyn nuzzled her face into his chest, then looked up at him, taking in his deep blue eyes, the shade still astonishing to her.

“The royal family will be here in a week, according to the raven that came in today,” he whispered, gazing into her deep brown eyes as intently as she looked into his.

“I know,” she whispered, biting her lip. She had been dreading this discussion, knowing that Joffrey would be there with Sansa. What would happen if she couldn’t face them and maintain her composer? It wouldn’t do them any favors to insult the royal family.

“I don’t ask about where you go when you’re afraid. But you are going to see my sister and her husband, someone that has caused her such harm that she risked my entire family to reach out for help. She won’t be in a good way, and you will probably see it. Roslyn, you need to keep it together,” he said, pleadingly. 

“I know,” said Roslyn again, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. “But based on what she’s been through, I don’t know if I…”

“Roslyn, you’re so good. Do you hear me? You remained kind, despite what you’ve been through. You gave birth during a storm at sea without a maester or milk of the poppy or anything. You can do this. If my sister seems scared, or hurt, or off in any way, acknowledging it would insult the royal family, and could put our plan in jeopardy. I know that you want to help everyone. But you can help more by playing along, by acting your part so that you won’t endanger her further. That’s how you help,” he spoke firmly, a voice he rarely used with his wife. It wasn't unkind, but it was steady, a voice that reminded her that she had to play along to keep her family safe.

“I understand,” she murmured, tears running down her cheeks freely now.

“Shhh, we’re gonna be fine, Roslyn. Together, we’ll keep this family safe,” he said, clutching her even closer to his chest. She nodded against him, knowing that he was right. Ready to do what she had to do.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Arya marched into Robb and Roslyn’s quarters, not even bothering to knock. She was so excited to train with her brother, Serio wanting to see the Young Wolf in combat; he had given Arya permission to spar with her brothers that day.

Robb was on his bed, wearing only Dornish small clothes, a sheer chemise, laying on his side as he watched Roslyn nursing Donner. Roslyn had the top of her dress pulled down, clutching her baby gently to her side.

“Robb, aren’t you coming ou-,” she stopped, covering her eyes as she realized that Roslyn and her brother weren’t decent. “Why aren’t you dressed yet, you could have given me fair warning.”

“Warning? Little bride to be, you didn’t even knock,” said Robb, ignoring his sister.

“What are you doing?” she asked, pulling at his foot, keeping her eyes covered with one arm.

“Arya, I’m just spending time with my wife and child,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s important.”

She stopped at this, looking at Roslyn and wrinkling her nose. “When I’m your age, will I be this lazy?” she asked, horrified. “Come on, you promised.”

“You’re right about that,” said Robb, stretching and rolling over before sitting up. “I not only promised her, but Jon, Theon, and the Sand Snakes. My love, will you be okay?” he asked, touching Roslyn's chin lightly.

“Yes, Lady Ellaria wishes to take me for a walk in the garden, maybe a trip to the town. She mentioned buying me a knife” she said, shrugging as she sat up to kiss her husband farewell.

Robb kissed her with a chuckle, then gently touched Donner, the baby grabbing at his fingers and holding them for a moment. It scared him, this tiny, perfect being. Holding his son scared him, the idea of being so gentle seemingly impossible. 

Robb got up and dressed and then followed Arya outside, laughing as Arya took off down the hall, and he heard a crash once she was out of sight.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Arya stood with one hand behind her back, blindfolded as she listened carefully. Serio had been teaching her to hear her opponents before she saw them, and she jumped back just as Jon’s practice sword came crashing down where she had just been standing. She then dove at him, getting inside his defenses and hitting his stomach. 

Out for the round, Jon sat down on a bench next to Serio, who watched with patience, observing his student carefully.

Arya tore off the blindfold, throwing it on the ground. She turned to Robb, ready for his attack as she faced him down. Despite trying to learn the more Dornish styles of fighting, he still preferred the heavier northern swords, giving him an advantage in both weight and reach. Arya waited until he came at her first, ducking down and rolling out of the way.

Robb spun on his feet and came at her again, but she dodged his attack, almost landing a bow on his arm, but just missing. 

“See where your target will be, not where he is,” said Serio, instructing her.

“Hey, no helping,” said Robb, turning again as he stopped, feeling unsteady on the dusty ground in his laced up sandals. He wasn’t used to this, his sword felt too heavy for a place this hot, but lighter ones threw off his balance even more. He charged again, this time, Arya jumping up onto the wall next to their arena.

“No fair,” panted Robb, as Arya easily reached down and touched him with her sword, winning the round. He smiled up at her, though, and they shook hands before he turned and sat down next to Jon.

“My turn!” came Greyjoy’s voice, as he came at Arya suddenly from her right, blunted short sword in hand. Arya turned so fast that she momentarily lost her balance, rising up on her toes and recentering herself on the wall. But Greyjoy swung at her again and again, and Arya waved her arms frantically, dropping her practice sword and falling backwards. 

A splash was heard, and all stood and rushed over, looking over the low wall to see that Arya had landed in a water trough. 

“Looks like the puppy is all wet!” laughed Greyjoy, reaching down and pulling her up and sitting her on the wall. 

“Girl, you need to learn to balance. With our next lesson, it will be crucial for the coming events,” said Serio, frowning at Arya as she wrung the water out of her robes.

“Did you not see what I saw? Two out of three wins. Your sister is incredible,” came a voice, Obella, walking up with her arm around her sister Elia. 

Arya rolled her eyes and laughed, picking up her practice sword where she had dropped it. “Only cause I have the best teacher,” and she shook like a dog, the water flying from her hair.

Elia jumped back, giving a great shriek. “Just for that, pup, we’re making you do another fitting, plus you have to attend ours.”

“Not on your life,” yelled Arya, hopping down and picking up her sword again, making to chase after the two girls, but Serio caught her by the shoulder.

“Girl, you and I have another lesson I am afraid. Come, change out of those wet things, there’s clothes in the shed,” he said, his voice not giving away what was needed of her.

Arya was reluctant but obeyed, watching the two girls run off as she entered the shed. Inside, she found only a blue dress and shoes. It took her a good bit of squirming to get into it correctly. The thing was too small, the waist too narrow, yet it dragged along the ground. She may have despised what would be her wedding dress, but at least it fit her properly.

She came out a few minutes later and Theon almost laughed out loud, Arya having to hitch up the long skirts so that they didn’t trail in the dust. She was pink in the face, carefully watching her feet to make certain that she didn’t trip.

“Come, girl. Today, I am your dancing instructor,” said Serio, patting Arya on the shoulder. “My lords, ladies.”

They walked inside together, Arya huffing as she went. Serio always had a lesson behind everything he asked of her, but she still didn’t like this, and gave a serving girl who stumbled upon them a mean look. 

They walked through the palace, coming out into the front gardens where preparations for the wedding were taking place. An area for dancing was being set up, a tent to overhang them and keep the hot sun at bay being built as they stepped out into the garden, Serio stopping and turning to Arya.

“They call you the pup now?” he asked, and Arya looked away, not wanting to meet his eyes. “Arya!” At that she looked at him, an angry expression painting her features.

“I’m trying to help you. Sometimes you must play the hand that you have, and what you have here is illusion. You don’t have to be a perfect lady, but act like you’re trying to be the perfect lady.”

“I don’t want to be a lady,” she muttered, looking away.

“I know that, your brothers know that. Even your intended knows that! Just pretend that you’re trying to behave, for a few days and one wedding. I promise after that, it will be over, one way or another it will”- but before Serio could finish his sentence, he looked up, bringing a finger to his lips and pushing Arya into a bush to hide.

“I can’t leave it alone Ellaria, she meant the world to me! Maybe if you had known her, you would understand. They will pay, and I don’t care how it interferes,” were the words that they heard, and then Oberyn came into sight, with a very frustrated looking Ellaria following him.

Upon seeing the swordmaster, both Oberyn and Ellaria stopped, looking guilty.

“What do my ears hear, my prince? Treachery, revenge? Operations that are cloak and dagger in nature?” he asked, looking at them with a tight smile on his lips

“Not exactly,” started Oberyn, but he saw the way Serio’s smile fell from his face immediately.

“Do not lie to me. I am not fond of lyers,” he said, looking at Oberyn in a way that made Ellaria grasp at his shoulders, frightened for him.

“I’m not changing the plans, per se. But since we’re rescuing Sansa Stark, the Lannister’s will be here anyway,” said Oberyn, sheepishly.

“You can’t risk this for your revenge against the Lannisters,” said Serio coldly.

“My sister must have justice! It’s not even the revenge I crave. Our plan won’t involve The Mountain, or Tywin, off in Casterly Rock counting their gold,” he snapped, beating a pillar with his fist. The madness people claimed the red viper possessed was showing itself, it seemed. 

“My love, we’re robbing them of what is most precious. We’re doing it right in front of the Queen herself. Their pain should equal yours,” she soothed, delicately touching Oberyn’s cheek.

“It will suffice,” he murmured, thinking of the wound they intended to inflict. It would cut deep, indeed.

“I’m glad you are appeased. But I should warn you, if you do anything unexpected, put my student or those I’m sworn to protect in any more danger than necessary, and you will have me to contend with. Now, if we’re in agreement, your grace, my lady, Arya will be here any moment to begin her dancing lesson for the wedding. 

As the two started to retreat, Arya came out from around the other side of the garden, and Serio gave her a good ear beating for ruining her dress

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Arya burst into their room again, smiling wide and excited for her brothers, until she saw Jon on his back with Robb on top of him. His face was down near the foot of the bed, so she saw the way his eyes were shut tight in pleasure, his mouth open in an O shape, lost to the feeling of Robb inside of him. Robb on his part was biting at Jon’s shoulder like he was ravenous as he fucked him hard, Roslyn and Theon lying cuddled up next to them. the blankets were pulled up over them as the night was chilly, but it was plain to see that all were naked, and she quickly turned and slammed the door, making her presence known. 

A few minutes later the door opened, Robb rolling his eyes as he tied his robe

“Gods,” she groaned, keeping her eyes covered. “What in seven hells are you doing?!” she demanded, not willing to uncover her face.

Robb sighed and reminded her to knock and reassuring her that all were decent, while Jon turned bright pink and Theon burst out laughing. 

Roslyn stood next to the bed, blushing profusely for Arya, who she had come to understand was more shy about sex than most girls her age, which seemed bizarre to her given where they where. 

“You’re supposed to be hosting a gathering for my groom. I ordered food from the kitchens, made decorations with Obella and Elia, and I even paid for a girl to come and do all the things I can’t do,” she said, refusing to turn and face them. “It’s my wedding present for him.”

“You mean what you won’t do?” asked Roslyn, putting her hands on her hips.

“No, what I can’t do,” said Arya, turning around and approaching Roslyn, red in the face. “I can’t be the sweet pretty blushing maiden. I may be a maiden, but I’m not like that. Being bedded and having a hundred babies has never been what I want. I know it’s what I’m supposed to want. It’s so easy for you, you come from a family with a million siblings. You and Robb will have lots of babies and I’ll love them all, and I know that he doesn’t see you as just a broodmare, but it’s still not me. You don’t have to understand it, I don’t understand why being touched in certain ways, no matter who it is, makes me feel sick. I don’t know why, but it’s me. Please, Roslyn, that’s just me.”

By the time she was done, her face was red and teary and snot was running from her nose. 

“I’m sorry. You’re right, Arya. I’m so sorry,” said Roslyn, wrapping her arms around Arya from behind. Arya gasped, not realizing that she had really needed Roslyn’s acceptance, her lack of sexuality making her truly the odd one out in the family. 

“Thank you,” whispered Arya, tearing up again, turning and reciprocating the hug.

“Um, can you get out now, please? We’ll have our little party and get your boy’s feet wet in an hour, as agreed before you got impatient and burst in on us. Roslyn was gonna wear me out so that I don’t do anything I might regret, such as”-”Theon, not in front of my sister!”

This time it was Jon who started laughing, glad to see Arya being ushered out of the room and Roslyn coming back up to the bed, dropping her robe once again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I admit this was kinda CRACK in a way, but I've been sad and needed to write something that I could just laugh about. 
> 
> Please review, I wanna hear even if it's to find out how much you hate it.
> 
> Thank you for reading. Happy Apocalypse!


	16. A Royal Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The royal family arrive in Dorne; Arya, Jon, and everyone try very hard to keep it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think. I'm having Sansa do everything that she can to hide her distress to justify her mother still lying to herself, because she knows that her parents can't do anything.
> 
> I'm sorry this took me so long, I posted two other fics and I realize that getting distracted is how you let something like this die. That isn't happening. I'm finishing this, regardless of what else I'm working on.
> 
> Enjoy

The day arrived, first gradually over the week leading up, and then engulfing Sunspear in a cacophony of activity. Servants scurried every which way, hanging banners, carrying jugs of wine, setting up tables and scattering flowers and creating a din which made Jon Snow wonder to behold. Winterfell required a lot of people of all walks to keep going, but this level of preparation was more than he had ever imagined. He had been there for his brother’s wedding, which had been a simple affair. Robb had wanted to focus more on family, and so had pews from the sept carried out to the godswood so that there would be a spot for everyone, from his parents to old nan to Sir Rodrik to Hodor. However, the emphasis was much more focused on presentation due to the royal presence and the need to make things go smoothly. Here, he noticed how every corner of the castle was cleaned,not merely tidied, but stripped completely. 

It hadn’t occurred to him that the Martells would want to impress to the point of hiding their Dornishness, but he supposed it was to be expected. The rest of the seven kingdoms held up Dorne as an example of barbarism at worst or complete decadent indulgence in all things sinful at best. Apparently, everything had to go. The usual floor pillows and low tables were put into an empty room and instead several high tables were arranged with proper benches and chairs. He knew that the Martells would clean up their act for the wedding, but he had assumed that the overt sexuality would be tempered, not the furniture. But it seemed that they had to censure everything, so many details he had never considered being deemed offensive to Northern tastes. At one point, Jon’s heart wept as he watched Oberyn taking his youngest daughter’s crossbow from her, promising she would have it back after the wedding. 

It felt sad, like a shameful secret had to be hidden, seeing the serving girls being made to cover up just a bit more. He even agreed with the complaints of how shoulders were not indecent. Sure, Jon had been shocked by the culture in Dorne, but hadn’t hated them for their furniture or servant’s wear. 

Upon seeing Obara in a dress, however, he had almost laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of it all. He had assumed that Arya would be the one who struggled to be a proper lady, but seeing the way in which Obara fumed, it made the orange and yellow frills which accented the red dress seem like they were about to burst into flames. He had noted that her fingers were adorned with many rings, probably in case she felt the need to deck someone, and he chuckled along with the rest of the family upon seeing her hands batted away each time she hitched her long skirts up to her waist.

Arya’s simple blue dress seemed dignified in comparison, her riding boots a nice touch, her hair braided back in a way she liked and her mother would deem acceptable. 

The explosion of activity didn’t sit easy with him, but he had to remain calm. Around midday, the ships had pulled into harbor. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The royal procession rode up from the docks, many many more than any of them had ever expected. There were guards and gold cloaks and squires and knights, boys carrying banners and the Kingsguard. Among them were servants walking on foot, men and women and even some livestock. It was almost as many as had been present for Sansa’s wedding, and the sight of representatives from other Lords loyal to the king made Jon’s heart sink. He was only glad that it meant that these people were trapped in Sunspear with the Martells, stuck on unfamiliar ground.

He also had to remind himself that they had the North. While aboard the Martell’s ship, Robb had sent letters to the Karstarks and all of the other houses known to be loyal to the Starks. This way, no one could intercept the letters, Robb handling them personally. If the royal family retaliated, not only did they have them all in one place, but they had the north to retaliate, and if worse came to worse, the Iron Islands. 

The Queen road up in a carriage alongside the King, easily spotted from Sunspear. Jon nervously adjusted his sleeves, standing behind Robb and Roslyn, who had Donner with them. Theon stood beside them, keeping him just out of sight at the right angles. He dreaded this part, the look that Lady Catelyn was sure to give him. His nervousness increased as the procession approached, and when the the gates to Sunspear started to open, he let out an involuntary whine. Robb reached back and took his hand in his, and he allowed himself to relax for a moment as his brother and Roslyn turned and smiled at him.

“We love you,” they said, barely audible, and he smiled. Theon turned around and gave him a quick peck on the lips, and they shared a look that said _last one for a while_. Jon then nodded, he could do this.

The procession slowly rolled in, gallant knights and banners parading in front of them, and he caught a glimpse of all who were present: They passed in a flash, getting in line for the royal carriage and everyone else on horseback. Jon noted the Mountain, shocked that he would come, realizing that he was there to taunt them, and he quickly glanced at Oberyn, who had noticed as well. However, the Red Viper of Dorne was doing a remarkable job of hiding his feelings. 

Then the royal carriage stopped, and the KIng and his father dismounted their horses. It was the first Jon had seen of his father in months; he seemed ill at ease, as if pained by something. Jon knew instantly that his father was aware of Sansa’s distress, but in watching the way that he looked at the king, it was clear that Eddard had given up trying to convince the him of anything.

The King slayer stopped his horse right next to the carriage, and the door opened, the queen stepping out into the lush courtyard, followed by Catelyn, and then Sansa.

The sight of her made Roslyn gasp. Sansa seemed barely lucid, her eyes glazed as if somewhere else. She was skinny, having clearly lost a lot of weight, and her nails were clearly chewed down to stubs. But the most disturbing thing was the way that she smiled, as if nothing in the world were wrong. A smile that took up most of her face, pained like the act made her jaw ache.

Roslyn stopped breathing for a moment, feeling herself falling. She knew that look, trying to keep up appearances for loved ones and just trying to survive. Her own mother had chosen to see what she wanted from that smile. All of it came rushing back, and she became slightly unsteady on her feet. But she had to hold it together, had to pretend not to see, just like everyone else...

Robb placed his hand on her shoulder, and she tried to focus on looking down at her baby, pretending to be calming him instead of looking at the wispy girl who scared her to look at. She breathed, allowing herself to feel grounded by the touch of her husband. She could do this, Roslyn told herself. We’re doing this to rescue her.

The king approached Oberyn and shook his hand, and the hand of Ellaria, not seeming to care that she was a Sand. Cersie courtsied, her eyes seeming to judge and belittle with the smallest glance. Her green dress and emerald studded tiara seemed too bright to look upon, but the Martells did their best to greet each of the royal family in the most polite manner possible. 

Arya curtsied, trying to be as proper as she could manage to welcome each member of the royal family. It was more hard to not laugh, she found, than to be polite as she watched princess Marcella meeting the Sand Snakes. 

“How do you do?” Marcella inquired, unsure how to address them, her cheeks flushed from the hot sun and her eyes glancing nervously at her mother.

Each of the Sand Snakes was reacting somewhat differently. Some were simply confused as to why their guests were being awkward about meeting them, Obara pained by trying to be lady-like, Nymeria being flirtatious, Tyene over the top, Elia bored, Obella angry. Arya hoped that none of them acted out, ruined this. They had to be perfect, but before she knew it, the royal greetings were over. 

The hardest part, surely, was greeting Joffrey, and it took all of Arya’s strength not to kill him right then with her poisoned ring.

She saw her mother then, approaching next to greet her and the Martells, and then Arya ran forward, throwing all courtesies to the wind as she embraced her mother.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Arya truly didn’t know what to expect when she finally saw her mother. She knew that impressing her was important and had dressed up in a light blue Dornish dress, careful to pretend to be proper. It was obvious that she wasn’t, but trying was what mattered. 

She stood straight, her only weapon the ring that Trystane had bought for her. Arya curtsied, remembered her courtesies, and did as instructed. She had trained herself for this like she had trained at water dancing.

Then, between the hundred of people in the yard, after greeting the royal family, Arya caught her first glance of her mother.. She broke from where she stood next to Roslyn, instead taking off and running across the yard. She reached her mother and threw all of her courtesies to the wind and instead jumped into her arms.

There she was, with her mother. Her mother, who had let her have a hunting hawk, allowing her to accompany her brother on the hunt. Her mother who had comforted her and sang her songs when a hail storm beat outside and lightning wracked across the sky. That night, Arya had thought her mother as brave as any night, crying into her shoulder as the storm raged outside. Catelyn had stroked her hair and sang old songs from the riverlands. 

Her mother, who had laughed as she hid among her skirts but then didn’t give away her hiding place when her brothers came searching for her in their games. 

She hugged her tight, not having realized how much she had needed her. It was strange, Catelyn did have a sort of woman’s courage, in a way that made Arya think that she could truly rely on her to protect her family. To Catelyn, family was first, even if she had some pretty bad ideas of how to treat them at times. 

Then Arya caught a glimpse of her sister, and she was back to reality and what she had to do. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The prince approached her from behind, putting himself between Arya and Sansa.

“My lady, it is an honor to be here to see you wed,” he said, in a manner that made her hair prickle. It wasn’t that it sounded rude, but that it came across as truly honest, and Arya knew that Joff remembered that she didn’t want to marry. He was glad indeed.

“Thank you, your grace. The honor is mine,” she replied, curtsying again in the way that she practiced. Sansa was quiet, but stepped forward and hugged her sister tight, wordless and desperate. But then Joff placed a hand on her shoulder and she let go, stepping back and looking down at her feet again.

“My the gods bless your health, sister,” she said in her soft voice, barely above a whisper.

“I’m sure that you’re all tired from the trip, won’t you all come inside and have some refreshments?” asked Oberyn, inviting them inside and gesturing to servants who were passing around plates of bread with salt and pouring cups of wine. 

Guest Right. Oberyn was offering them the protection of hospitality. Arya knew that he had to, but was still nervous at the sight, as the people she wanted to see punished each proceeded to eat a bite of bread with salt and accept a cup of wine.

“To our royal family, and to the union of the prince of Dorne and the new Princess,” said Oberyn, raising a glass. Everyone drank, and then all the formality broke. It was time to catch up, time to show guests to their quarters and for the families to discuss the plans for the ceremony and girls to talk about dresses and men to talk of feasts and turney’s and the bedding. 

Jon felt a little sick as he heard some of the talk, knowing how Arya was. If not for needing to be on his best behavior, he would have attacked some of the young guards for discussing Arya in those terms, catching one saying how a good bedding would tame such a beast.

But he was distracted from this when he caught Catelyn’s eye, and she approached him with a rather neutral expression. She had never sought him out before, and despite him still trying to stand where he was out of sight, she came right up to him.

“You have done an adequate job of helping Arya to behave,” she said, and then walking away to greet others. Jon thought it was the nicest thing she had ever said to him, and then turned around as he saw his father approach. Ned embraced Jon in a tight hug, almost making him cry, and for a moment, Jon longed for home.

He realized that he was scared. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sansa collapsed onto Arya’s bed, tearing off her sashes as she allowed herself to smile.

“Are you alright?” asked Arya, seeing the nearly manic expression on her sister’s face.

“Oh, I’m just… it was a long journey. Not much space aboard the ships. Now I can bunk with my little sister,” she said, petting Arya’s hair in the way that Jon would. This made her realize that things were truly terrible, and she pried gently.

“You didn’t have your own cabin?”

“No, I shared quarters with my Lord husband,” she said, looking distant. They didn’t say it aloud, how things truly were. 

Arya wanted to reassure her sister, let her know that they would never let Joffrey have her again. How do you do that, when the walls have ears and a whisper could cause everything to go wrong, like a spark lighting a forest ablaze?

Arya sat down beside to her, kicking off her shoes and laying down next to Sansa, putting her head up on her chest.

“Well, you are here now. Maybe you can stay for the winter,” she ventured, trying to hint that she was on Sansa’s side and wouldn't let Joff have her back. 

“But the king and royal family will have to be in King’s Landing by then,” Sansa sighed. It was obvious that she was trying to get confirmation before she allowed herself any hope. 

“I think we can make arrangements,” Arya said, holding her tight, horrified as she felt how skinny Sansa had truly become. 

Sansa sighed contentedly, knowing that her sister and her family would keep her safe and that she could trust them. “We’ll see,” she murmured, rolling over and hugging Arya tight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review! I promise that things will start getting exciting again really soon. Lots of family drama and awkwardness, fighting and spying, mistrust, a big wedding, blood, tears, vomit, death, love, sex, and all the other stuff that comes in between. 
> 
> Let me know.
> 
> Thank you


	17. A Feast of Bastards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The royal reception feast is an awkward affair, especially when Arya tries something dangerous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review. I've been working in order to save up a bit before I move, so I've had less free time to write as I would like. Still, I am trying so hard to get this done, putting off dozens of other projects.

The welcome feast was a strange affair, as if the Martells were not welcoming the royal family to Sunspear, but a facsimile of King’s Landing. Arya found it strange sitting in normal chairs at regular tables again, the manners of the royal court seeming to invade Dorne. There was even silverware, forks and knives to eat with instead of flat bread. She hoped that she didn’t accidentally spear her own tongue.

She and prince Trystane marched into the great hall arm in arm, Arya marveling at the changes made. The benches were filled with knights and guards and squires, rarities in Dorne, and the banners hanging from the walls, the sun and spear of house Martell, the crowned stag of Baratheon, the lion of Lannister, and the direwolf of Stark, filled the hall with color where they draped from the arches that acted as supports for the ceiling like a ribcage.

Arya had Nymeria with her on a leash, unlike at King’s Landing, where their direwolves were not allowed to be with them at feasts. Here she was to be a princess, however, and she could have her wolf with her and eat, too. She whispered in Trystane’s ear as they approached the high table, describing the banners and some of the sillier faces of men from King’s Landing and the jesters and the tricks they performed.

“There’s a crossed eyed jester juggling in the right hand corner. Glad he’s juggling balls and not fire,” she whispered, making her prince laugh. He was her prince now, she guessed. Oberyn, Ellaria, Doran and his other two children Arianne and Quentyn sat on either side of him. 

When they reached the high table they remained standing, facing the entrance as the King and Queen filed in after them, followed by her father and mother. Then came Joffrey and Sansa, and Arya’s blood boiled at the sight of how Sansa seemed to just disappear within herself, holding hands with her prince but mentally in some far off place, a smile still plastered on her face. This wasn’t the Sansa that she had grown up with, who dreamed of gallant princes and castles and songs. 

Next came Robb and Roslyn, and Marcella holding hands with Theon, who looked bored with everything, as per usual. Prince Tommen walked in by himself, no one there considered worthy to escort the young prince. 

Finally, the bastards filed in, not in the back for being bastards but because the royal court came before all but the hosts and bride to be. 

Obara walked in escorted by Daemon Sand, the cold look she gave to any knight who yelled or jeered shutting them up quickly. She made it to the table without tripping over her skirts or her shoes, and Arya chuckled and told Trystane that his cousin had been practicing. Next came Nymeria and Jon arm in arm, the sight of which caused Lady Catelyn to gasp out loud. Jon looked perfectly Lordly, wearing deep green Dornish robes and holding his lady’s hand with an air of grace. Dorne had truly done him well. Tyene and the rest all filed in together as pairs arm in arm, Tye holding onto her youngest sister Loreza’s hand and exaggeratedly walking crouched down to make up for the rather miniscule difference in height between them and laughing at the men they passed.

Once at table, Joffrey offered his hand to Arya, looking down as if he were a cat about to torture a mouse he had caught before he killed it. “You may kiss my ring, Lady Arya,” he said, reaching forward and offering her his right hand. His ring had the seal of his father’s house, no room for a lion on a ring, Arya thought. It was clear that he wanted her to submit, to be the proper lady despite her utter disgust. Arya caught Sansa’s eyes for a brief moment, and knew that she had to obey. Sansa would face the consequences if she insulted him. 

Arya made up her mind and reached out with both her hands, deciding that she had had quite enough of him and that she wanted to be done with it. She took his hand, cupping his fingers in her left from underneath and placing her right hand over his, and she leaned forward and as delicately as she could kissed the ring. However, without him seeing she pressed the button on her own ring and quickly cut his hand with it as she let go of him, closing it back up quickly before pulling her hands away while still trying to appear graceful.

“Ow, you scratched me!” he declared, catching everyone’s attention. His face began to redden slightly in anger, and for a moment Arya hoped that the poison had worked. “You’re as wild as your direwolf. Mother, this Stark beast cut me.”

“I’m sorry, your grace, I must have caught your hand with the edge of the jewel on my ring. It’s very old and needs to be re-cut,” she answered meekly, looking truly innocent. Arya had worked on this, using the naive and sweet appearance of a young bride-to-be to deflect all suspicion. She knew that she had them on her side, Joffrey not normally showing his more brutal nature before this many, and even Catelyn was giving him a shocked look with the way he pointed and spluttered about how Arya ought to be punished. Prince Joffrey was normally the perfectly chivalrous, perfect prince in front of his wife’s mother. 

But Joffrey looked like he was about to reach across the table and strangle Arya right there, but Prince Doran cleared his throat suddenly, catching the attention of all.

“Long speeches are not my preference, so I will be quick. We are honored to have the royal family here today, and to soon see the wedding of my youngest son and Arya Stark, creating a bond between our families through blood. Now, let the feast begin.” 

With that all sat down and servants started bringing in the food. It was Dornish through and through, unlike everything else in the room. The wine was sour red, perfect for the succulent sweet breads with a sauce of tiny sweet berries with fire peppers that was brought in first, followed by sheeps brains cooked in butter and wild dessert onions. Leg of goat with roasted snakes coiled around it like a copper wire, basted in spices and honey. A broth as clear as water, but so hot that even prince Doran was sweating. A salad of salt grass with sand plums and chewy roots Arya didn’t have a name for. Platters of various fruits, desert hare sitting on a nest of tiny brown grains. Flatbreads at every place, the forks sitting on top of each. It was clear that the Martells were not going to budge on the subject of food, and so what was served was spicy and strange, but it truly showed off the best that Dorne had to offer.

Joffrey glowered at Arya, who sat perfectly and ate small bites. She had practiced, been coached by Serio and her new sisters on how to use her graces like this. Before she had thought them stupid, but now, they were a weapon to her. Even her mother seemed pleased, smiling proudly despite how uncomfortable she was.

It was strange for Catelyn to see well raised, well behaved bastards sitting at table with royals, and she ate without paying attention to the food, barely able to taste it. She was seated right next to Ellaria Sand, and she found herself blushing as she tried to make small talk with her.

“I’m sorry, my lady. I was wondering if you could clear something up for me, but I don’t quite understand the role of a paramour,” she ventured, trying not to be rude.

“Quite understandable, as I don’t think it’s a role that exists outside of Dorne. I am Oberyn’s wife, except in name. Because I’m a Sand and the rest of the Seven Kingdoms would frown upon our union, we decided not to be legally wed and thus our children cannot bear his name, but aside from those technicalities, I am his wife,” she said, reaching over and taking Oberyn’s hand.

Oberyn held her hand to his lips and kissed it delicately, looking up at her with adoration in his eyes. “Ellaria has given me four beautiful, talented and strong daughters, who I love as if they were legitimate. She is powerful, clever and loving, and I wish to spend the rest of my life with her.”

Catelyn pursed her lips at this, noticing that Cersie wasn’t amused either, the queen frowning every which way she looked as yet another bastard caught her eye. Eddard nibbled at his food and spoke to prince Doran about preparations for the winter, how Dorne usually fared, trying to be unnoticeable and get through the meal without getting into any conversations about bastards.

“So Arya, you’ve been sticking to your dancing lessons?” asked Catelyn, turning to her daughter. After all that time, she still assumed that Arya was truly learning to dance and nothing else.

“Yes, Serio is teaching me every day,” she said, glad her mother was trying. “I can’t wait to have you see me dance at the wedding.” 

She meant it, too. Arya had found that actually learning to dance was quite fun, a womanly art that she was actually good at. Catelyn beamed at her for a moment, before her attention was brought back to all the bastards at the table.

They were everywhere. Her husband’s, Oberyn’s daughters, a knight, and the paramour. She had never been around so much illegitimacy in her life, and it turned her stomach to think about.  
Trying to be polite, she thought quickly about anything she could say, and then caught Roslyn’s eye and gave her a polite smile. 

“So Roslyn, it was nice to be greeted by you and my grandchild, but I’m curious how you managed,” said Catelyn, trying to be genuinely pleased about something. And she was. When she had seen her son with his wife beside him, she had been shocked, but upon seeing Donner, she had cried. They hadn’t discussed the circumstances, Catelyn simply took the baby and wouldn’t give him back for most of the afternoon, reminding all of Arya. 

“Theon helped me through the birth, since he assisted on many births aboard ships in his youth,” said Roslyn, giving Theon a knowing grin. “If not for Theon, without a maester or midwife, I might have died.”

This shocked Catelyn, who looked at the Ironborn with horror in her eyes, until Eddard spoke up.

“Theon, did you help Roslyn?” he asked, calmly as he looked down at his ward, carefully. Suddenly, the fear that Theon had of Lord Eddard as a boy, learned from living in fear of his true father, was back. First it had been instinctual, but eventually it was due to not wanting to disappoint the man who had all but adopted him.

“Yes, my Lord,” he said, carefully, unsure how he would react. Despite the necessity of his involvement in the birth, most Lords wouldn’t be too happy about their ward being anywhere near that area of their son’s wife.

But Eddard gave him the warm smile that always reassured him, and once again Theon felt like a boy, lost in a different kind of sea. “Theon, thank you. You saved the life of my daughter in law, and for that, I’m forever grateful. You helped the Stark line be furthered. You may not bear our name, but you are one of us,” he said, smiling at his ward, proud of him. 

“You said that you learned as a boy at sea? Who was giving birth on board…” Catelyn’s words drifted off as she realized that it would have been whores snuck aboard, and she looked away. She tried to find something else to talk about, and noticed the way in which Sansa picked at her food. She always picked at her food these days. 

“Eat, Sansa,” Catelyn said, passing a piece of flat bread to her daughter, who took it obediently and nibbled at it. Sansa looked up at Arya and Robb, who gazed at her expectantly. They wanted her to know that soon she would be safe. She need not fear, and that she should eat.

“Since Sansa’s accident, she hasn’t wanted to eat. I cannot imagine such grief, but she is trying so hard to be strong. Still, it was an unbearable tragedy, losing her first child to a fall. I’ve been trying to help, Maester Pycelle giving her every possible potion for her mood. Alas, I will never know what she feels, for I have five living children. How is Bran, by the way?” she asked, glad to have seemingly turned things around.

“He’s amazing. Flourished; we left him in charge. Bran is incredible at the bow, now, especially from high up places, still climbing like a squirrel. His kind nature has engendered a great many of your bannermen, who want wards sent to Winterfell, and he’s preparing for the winter like a true Lord.”

“Wonderful,” murmured Catelyn, fondly. She trusted that they would not lie to her about her son, and the thought of Bran performing the duties of a Lord made her smile. She turned to Ellaria, deciding to really make a go of it, and asked her timidly “so how are the winter’s down here?”

Ellaria smiled back and opened up, and soon the conversation felt natural.

Robb and Jon spoke excitedly, and Theon listened and drank and occasionally chimed in. Obara talked weapons with the king, seemingly getting along with him over his love of killing. Arya spoke with Trystane about the books he was reading, his studies about war planning and diplomacy. He wanted to improve upon his skills as a leader, to be useful to the people of Dorne.

“Since the Targarians ran out of Dragons, one battle tactic I found they developed was flying a kite that can spray wildfire. The idea isn’t even to hit any troops, just to make them think that there’s a dragon somewhere far off to break the line of the lower ranks.”

Arya beamed at him, feeling even better as she flawlessly ignored the way in which prince Joffrey glowered at her. Trystane had been trying so hard to learn and make himself a better prince. He had spent so long trying to be what his father wanted. Now, he was learning to be who he wanted. Now he flourished in his studies, sometimes sitting with his uncle Oberyn when he held court. So far he had just listened, but listening was a skill many lacked. 

He and Arya had grown closer, she helping him by fetching books or reading to him when his eyes hurt. They touched hands under the table, the gesture as intimate as any lovemaking.

When the jesters of the royal court started performing in the center of the room and the singers started playing their mandelins and lutes, Arya felt a weight off her shoulders. She pretended to pay attention to the performers while watching everyone closely. She had to see what was going on, not to merely look, but to see. What she saw was a tense situation that was barely stable. She truly hoped that things could hold together until the wedding. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Obella struck Arya across the face, the slap echoing within the confines of the bedchamber. Arya stumbled backwards, catching herself on one of her bedposts, touching her cheek. It felt hot, and she looked up at her friend with an angry gaze.

“You tried to poison the prince?” Obella asked, furious that their new friend would put everyone in danger. She said it quietly, not wanting to be overheard. They had to be especially careful now that Sunspear held the royal court.

“It wasn’t my fault that it didn’t work. I thought my ring had manticore venom in it,” Arya spat, whispering so that her lips barely moved. 

At this, Obella lunged forward and smothered her mouth with her hand, narrowing her eyes at Arya. 

“You have put my entire family in danger. All of my sisters, my father and mother. All of us. If you value our friendship, you will stick to the plan and not kill him yourself. You don’t get that satisfaction. Dorne needs her vengeance too,” she said in Arya’s ear, before releasing her roughly, pushing her. Arya managed to regain her balance, and turned and faced the Sand Snake. For the first time, she saw why she was called such, those eyes so fierce that it almost frightened her. Their gaze cut like a knife, searching, giving off a glint of something sinister. 

“I'm sorry,” she said, not out of fear, but because she needed her friends. Winter was coming, and her father once told her that during the winter the lone wolf starves. Arya needed her friends, but also, she simply wanted them to remain her friends and sisters first. “I know that you’re risking everything. I’m so sorry.”

Obella looked her up and down, but slowly her sharp gaze softened, the bloodlust leaving her eyes, and she grinned and pulled Arya into a hug, answering Arya’s confused look by shrugging as she let her go. “Eh, I would have done the same.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you enjoyed. Wanted Arya to use the ring and cause tensions to build between the families. Catelyn is trying to be well behaved and polite to all of the bastards. How nice.
> 
> Please review. I always love feedback and if you have any questions I will try to answer them. 
> 
> Thank you and I hope that you enjoy. Happy apocalypse.


	18. A Wolf in the Window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya finds out why the poisoned ring didn't work, and tries to spy on Joffrey. This, however, goes horribly array.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long. I have been working but now have a week off to take care of my parents cats.
> 
> Trigger Warning: animal death.
> 
> Please enjoy and review!

Arya watched Tyene closely as she peered through the lens. With her left hand the Sand Snake held the glass lens up to her eye, and with the right, she carefully held Arya’s ring. The jewel was up on it’s hinge exposing the needle underneath. It was taking a long time, Arya thought, but she had to know what was wrong and why Joffrey hadn’t died after she stuck him with it. 

Nymeria sat next to Arya, the girl occasionally stroking the dire wolf's fur, and the wolf stared at Tyene as if she were waiting for an answer as well.

The room was bizarre, as far as places in Sunspear went. Knives and spears hung from the walls, along with bottles on every shelf full of powders and liquids and herbs. The Sand Snake was better than a maester, because she didn’t just know how to heal, but how to poison. It was her specialty, fighting with poisoned daggers just like her father and his poisoned spear. It was where the name Red Viper came from, a name that Oberyn embraced whole-heartedly.

Tyene hummed as she examined the ring, her feet tucked up under her on the ottomen. Then, she looked up abruptly and snapped the ring shut and set it down on her desk with an air of finality

“Well, it used to contain some strong poison, but it appears the residue has lost its potency over the years,” she said, shrugging as she looked at Arya.

“So the seller didn’t lie?” she asked, stubbornly. Arya hated lyers, but didn’t relish attempting to find the seller again to ask for a refund. That seemed unwise.

“No, this is definitely an assassin’s ring. But it’s old, and very few poisons will remain effective longer than a few years,” said Tyene, picking up the ring and handing it back to Arya.

“Can you apply a new poison? I want it to work,” said Arya, narrowing her eyes at the thing as she held it between her fingers.

“Not until the royal family leaves. I’m afraid that your little incident with the prince has gotten everyone tense. You can’t be trusted not to kill him,” Tyene sighed, placing her hand on Arya’s shoulder. “Be patient,” she said, and then ruffled Arya’s hair. “Besides, you still have your part in this. Focus on that.”

Arya rolled her eyes, tired of this game. She wanted to be done with things, and the fact that they wouldn’t let her in on the plans made things worse.

“Stay away from Joffrey. Until the wedding, we don’t want you near him unless absolutely necessary,” said Tyene sternly, spinning around on the ottomen on which she sat.

“But I”-”No buts. We don’t trust you to not get us all killed. Promise that you won’t go near him.”

Arya looked away, angry that they wouldn’t let her do what she needed to do. She had to protect her sister. However, looking at her direwolf. Arya got an idea, and nodded her head in agreement.

“Fine,” she muttered. 

\------------

Joffrey sat in his room, brooding as he polished his sword. It was all he could do with the useless thing, since he wouldn’t be allowed to use it unless attacked. Even then, he had the Hound, and the King’s Guard, and none of them would allow him to face an attacker. No, he wouldn’t be allowed to fight with his sword until he was King, no matter how much he needed to defend his honor.

This fact truly dug under his skin. The Stark girl had made a fool of him at dinner. If it were up to him, he would have had her sloat slit there and then. But he would not be allowed to touch her, at least, not until he was King. 

Then he would probably find some reason, some excuse that the savage Martell’s couldn’t dispute, and he would have the girl’s head, and that of her wolf. 

Just then, he noticed a reflection in his polished blade, the wolf’s eyes peering at him. Joffrey looked up, eyeing the creature, confused. The freak wolf was staring at him, sticking its head up in his window, resting it’s paws on the sill. It’s deep golden eyes fixed on him, and the gaze made a shudder run through the prince. Was she watching him? The idea was absurd, she was just a dog. 

He smiled at her, pleased with the opportunity he found in this, the wolf there in his windowsill. 

Joffrey looked down at the sword in his hand, and back at the wolf, wondering if he could be fast enough. What would he tell the others, that the wolf had attacked him? Believable enough, he decided, standing up and gesturing for the wolf to come in.

“Here girl,” he said, using his sweet voice, wanting to lure the wolf in. He wouldn’t dare come at her, knowing the strength of the beast. “Here…” what was her name again? Erie? Nym? He could hardly remember the name of Sansa’s wolf, it had been so inane, just like her. 

“Nymeria,” he hissed, remembering at last, gesturing with his hand for the wolf to come.

But Nymeria just stared at him, those unnerving golden eyes rarely blinking.

“Here dog,” he said, his voice starting to crack a little bit from anger, before he lost himself and thrust his sword at the wolf, who easily ducked down off the windowsill and out of his reach.

Joffrey climbed up on the windowsill and jumped down, lunging for the wolf, missing again. The prince sneered as he watched Nymeria run away, scowling at the creature. 

“Cowardly dog,” he spat, angered to have been denied this kill. 

\-----------------------------------------

She had risked Nymeria. The wolf looked at her with what anyone else would have said was simply an animal’s stare. But Arya saw accusation, anger, and confusion.

Why? asked the wolf. Why did you put me in danger?

“I’m sorry,” said Arya, throwing her arms around the direwolf and feeling the tears welling at the corners of her eyes. “I want to protect my sister. I didn’t think he would threaten you.” Didn’t think, she could practically hear the direwolf repeating with a laugh. 

“I have to save my sister. You would have done anything you could to save Lady, and I would have risked my life for you had you asked,” she said, stomping her foot. 

The dire wolf's eyes changed slightly, and Arya realized that no one had told Nymeria or Ghost that Lady was dead. 

“I”m sorry,” she said, sitting down on the floor, Nymeria putting her head in the girl’s lap.  
“Gods, I’m stupid. I shouldn’t risk you, you mean so much to me,” and Nymeria licked Arya’s hand, and the girl felt forgiveness from the wolf.

“Looks like I’ll need to find another way to keep track of Prince Joffrey,” she said, stroking the dire wolf's head. Just then, a stray cat jumped up in the windowsill. 

\-----------------

His hands were around her throat, but then, when weren’t they? At least when the two of them were alone, it was the prince’s go to.

“Your sister is up to something, and I know that you know what it is,” he snarled, his eyes lethal.

“I don’t know anything. She’s wild, but doesn’t mean any harm,” gasped Sansa, Joffrey tightening his grip.

“She is! She attacked me at dinner, and earlier she set her wolf on me,” 

Sansa tried to back up, tried to escape Joffrey’s grasp, but only hit one of the bed’s posts. She started to sink down as the hands around her throat tightened. Maybe she would fall unconscious before he took her. It had happened before. But how would she get moon tea here? She wondered, when suddenly the hands let go of her throat, and Prince Joffrey was screaming. 

Sansa’s hands flew to her mouth as she tried to figure out what was happening. Something furry was on the prince’s head, yowling and scratching, and it took Sansa a moment to realize that it was a cat.. A grey tabby cat, scrawny and mean looking, hanging on to Joffrey’s head and sinking its claws into him over and over, hissing and spitting. 

Joffrey was trying to grab at the cat, but it kept managing to wriggle out of his grasp or claw at his hand. He ran around the room, screaming as the cat continued to claw at his face, until he rammed into a wall. 

He leaned forward and, pressing with his head against the wall, eventually managed to get the cat in his grasp.

He pulled the cat off of himself, screaming incomprehensibly until he held it up for Sansa to see, and then he took a breath. Blood dripped down his face where the cat had scratched him, and he seethed as his gaze went back and forth between the cat and Sansa.

“I’ll kill her! When I’m king I will find a reason, and kill all of you! Your mother and father, your sister and brothers, even the bastard and the dogs” he yelled, and then wrenched the cat’s head around. The cat gave a final shriek and then went limp, Joffrey then tossing it into Sansa’s lap.

“Here, a gift for my lady,” he said with a graceful bow and then walked out, leaving Sansa on the floor with a dead cat in her lap, crying. 

\------------------------------

Arya sat in her room crying, unsure of what to do. She had felt the cat die, had been inside of her mind when it went dark. She felt sick, and clutched Nymeria tightly, truly grasping the danger she had put her dire wolf in today.

“I won’t let him get you,” she whispered, tears running down her face and onto the short fur of the wolf. 

“No, you won’t,” came a voice behind her, and she knew at once that it was her father. She didn’t look at him, but instead continued to bury her face into Nymeria’s fur, wanting to blank out the world.

“Why did you allow it?” asked Arya, looking up but still refusing to turn to him as her father sat down next to her. She didn’t object, however, when he placed an arm around her.

He reached out and stroked Nymeria’s short fur, silent for a moment, unable to answer, and then cleared his throat.

“I did as my king wished,” he said, knowing that it didn’t excuse him handing over his daughter to a monster. There was no excuse for it.

“But why?” Arya asked again, this time looking at her father with accusations written all over her face. “He’s terrible.”

“I know. Arya, you need to understand. Strategic marriages are meant to strengthen alliances. I allowed it, because I wanted to tie Baratheon to Stark, rather than have the future king marry one allied to Lannister. I know that it was a mistake, but I can’t do anything about it now, except do my best to protect Sansa.

“Well, you’re not doing a very good job,” muttered Arya, and at this Ned raised an eyebrow, but then shook his head, not wanting to know.

“I just need enough time to find evidence that would lead to the union being declared invalid. If what I think I know about the Lannisters is true, I can get the marriage annulled,” he offered, to which Arya shook her head no.

“Not good enough,” she said, and Eddard knew that she was right. That Joffrey wouldn’t go down without taking Sansa with him.

“I’ll try harder to protect her. Since Joffrey’s outburst at the feast, your mother is not so keen on the boy anymore. I’m hoping that she’ll step up now.”

But Arya still looked off into space, as if too tired to care. She wanted to tell him, let her father know of the plans and to explain the cat and how she had almost lost Nymeria. She wanted to but knew that she couldn’t, and so instead just cried into the wolf’s neck until her father pulled her into a hug. She breathed in the familiar scent of her father and of home, and allowed him to comfort her as she cried.

“I’ll do better,” he said, and Arya knew that he was being truthful. He wouldn’t let her sister come to harm, and she smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me. I am sorry for this. I love cats and have no idea why this came to me.
> 
> Would love reviews, but please keep it civil. I am against animal cruelty and actually foster cats when I can. Love all animals, actually. 
> 
> Thank you


	19. A Day of Many Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Day of the Wedding arrives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's been so long. Summer is terrible, especially when you like to where all black
> 
> Got in a car accident and preparing to move. California here I come!

Ned hesitated outside of Arya’s door, uncertain as if he were the one getting married on the morrow. He tried to get himself together, looking down at the small gift he had brought for her, then hiding it behind his back again. He sighed and then tried to get ready to face her. He brought up his fist and only hesitated for a moment. But before he could bring his fist down to rapp on the door, it swung open and Elia looked up at him with dark eyes.

“She’s inside,” she stated, bored as she opened the door more for Eddard, who stood frozen on the spot at the gaze of this wild young girl. He could tell she was like Arya, and would be lethal if given the chance. She had viper eyes, and he cautiously stepped forward, wondering if being around her was good for Arya or not as he cautiously entered the antechamber.

“Lady Elia,” he said in greeting, looking about but not finding Arya.

“I’m a bastard, not a lady,” she told him straight, and then shrugged off behind the sheer curtain which cordoned off her bedchamber. Ned stood there for a moment, unable to figure out where to go, not keen on entering his daughter’s bedroom, when Arya stepped out from her own chamber.

“Father,” she said, smiling sadly at him. She seemed older to him, no longer a child but instead a young woman who was as fierce and beautiful as Lyanna had been. She indicated for him to sit and he did, finding it awkward to sit on an ottomon but not complaining. Instead he focused on his daughter, who seemed as quiet as he could be sometimes.

“Arya, child. I have, um, a gift for you,” he said, tentatively. He felt like there was a lump in his throat, and he prayed that she liked what he had brought her.

“The gift giving is at tomorrow’s breakfast,” she said, sitting on a couch and indicating for her father to sit down next to her. He did, getting up and moving and then leaning forward, one hand on his knees.

“I know, but this is special. I want you to be married before the old gods of the North, so I brought you a piece of them,” he said, and he held out the small clay pot with what looked like a tiny white tree planted inside. Arya took the thing and held it carefully, uncertain of it. She looked at it up and down, frowning as she examined it. It seemed unreal.

The pale white bark was clearly visible against the low light of the room, the glow from the lamps making it seem luminescent. The leaves were red and hand shaped, and Arya tentatively touched one of them. She didn’t know what she had expected. Silk, maybe? But these were real, and she ran a finger down the short, skinny trunk and felt at the course soil the tree was planted in. It was a weirwood tree.

“I had the head gardener of the Red Keep take a trimming of the weirwood tree in the godswood. I’m not sure how it works, but he planted the branch and it grew, and I have now brought it for you. I know how much you loved the godswood, and know that Sunspear doesn’t have one. It won’t grow very big here, but if you take care of it, it will live a long time,” he said and Arya nodded, setting it down.

“Thank you, father,” she said, uncertain but hopeful. She leaned on his shoulder, looking at the thing with half-lidded eyes, the tiny face carved into it red with sap, not so gruesome as the tree’s larger counterparts. It almost seemed to be smiling at her, giving her confidence. The old gods would be present for her. She could do this, they had the gods on their side.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Arya’s eyes fluttered open with the sounds of birds singing outside of her window. They were different from the ones in the North, these birds had sandy coloration and odd crests, she had even seen one type that lived in borrows!

The misty dawn showed the silvery glimmer of what would later be an unrelenting sun. She hoped that if the whole operation went bad, that at least she was now used to fighting in the heat. The tiny weirwood in it’s pot caught her eyes and she pleaded with it, and for a moment felt that she was back in the godswood at winterfell.

She heard a knock at the door and one of her other roommates got it. Instead, Arya hugged Nymeria tighter, rubbing her face into the wolf’s neck.

“I’m getting married today,” she whispered, shocked that it seemed to be coming up upon her out of nowhere. Months of planning, and yet it appeared to have rushed up on her suddenly, and she felt the nervousness of all the coming activities starting to settle in.

Then, her mother peaked her head inside her bedroom, and Arya sat up and stretched.

“Morning, mother,” she yawned, stretching in a most unlady-like manner.

Catelyn smiled at her, though, picking up a brush and sitting down next to her.

“Good morning, bride to be,” she said, gently and motherly.

“More like actual bride,” said Arya, untying her hair and shaking it to let it out of the braid.

Catelyn chuckled and then started brushing Arya’s hair, pleased with how she sat up straight and allowed her to do her hair without fussing. It had been a struggle, back in Winterfell. Of course, she didn’t know that Arya allowed Obella and Elia to do her hair for training, even teaching her how to hide pins and other sharp objects in it for fighting.

“I’m so proud of you,” said Catelyn, and Arya felt conflicted. She had always wanted her mother’s approval, but it came at the cost of not being true to herself.

“Because I’m getting married?” she asked, trying to sound innocent. “You and father arranged that.”

“No, it’s because you’ve become a lady. Not a lady of the southern courts, but still a lady. Arya, you’ve learned manners and graces septa Mordane and I have long tried to teach you. People aren’t as blunt everywhere as they are up north, and the monsters aren’t always as obvious as the ones in Old Nan’s stories. Monsters that even fooled me,” Catelyn said.

Arya turned and looked at her, accusation plain in her eyes. “Monsters you didn’t want to see,” she corrected. She wouldn’t let her mother deflect the responsibility she had for her elder sister’s suffering.

“You’re right,” said Catelyn, continuing to brush the tangles out of Arya’s hair. “Sansa’s husband seems less gentile than I had thought”-”He’s a monster,” Arya corrected, but her mother shook her head. “You can’t say that.”

There was a pause, but then Catelyn continued, slowly. “I wasn’t sure about this match, but I can see that you’ve grown from this. I’m not fooled by this charade of courtly manners, but you are trying to be good and understand now how some may judge our behavior, and that’s all I can hope for.”

Arya sighed, and Catelyn put a hand on her shoulder. “Do you know why you can’t call the prince a monster?”

Her question seemed innocuous, but Arya knew that it was important. She had to prove to her mother that she truly was a lady now. “Because someone might hear?” she asked, tentatively, but realized it wasn’t quite right. She thought, and then asked, “it’s because the wrong person might hear? Someone you might not even know is the wrong person, and they’ll do something bad with those words.”

Catelyn nodded, giving a sad smile. “Bluntness is fine in the North, where all face a common enemy of winter. But when you’re surrounded on all sides, you have to maintain alliances. You can’t break them without consequence. Arya, every moment in the court is treacherous, and you have to keep those on your side loyal to you. With graces, you have armor that will protect you as much as any sword, love. You will spend as much time with your husband's men and ruling as he will, and his bannermen won’t respect a wild child running about in tattered things. You have to be strong and proud as your husband. Loyalty is a great weapon, and you have to inspire it.”

She brushed all the tangles out of Arya’s hair as she spoke, and Arya teared up, feeling low. Putting her mother in danger like this wasn’t fair, but she didn’t have a choice. There was no other way to rescue Sansa, and she just hoped that her mother would understand. She seemed to, now.

And because Catelyn had to put down those things which she deemed improper, she sighed when noticing Obella stuck her head inside to let them know of the breakfast starting soon.

“Being around these ill-behaved bastards must have taught you how not to act,” she said, and Arya was so preoccupied with her thoughts that she just rolled her eyes at her.

Arya turned around and embraced her mother fully, tears still rolling down her cheeks.

“Gods, I’m getting married today,” she muttered, and Catelyn laughed again, holding her daughter tight.

\----------

The breakfast reception was large, yet not as big as the reception that evening, many of the guests still arriving at Sunspear. Some had sent servants ahead of them to the breakfast to present their gifts in their stead. None of the houses of Dorne did this, as that would be a great insult to the Martells. But some caravans of nobles from the Stormlands were just announced to be coming in and wouldn’t arrive until just before the wedding. All the houses sworn to Martell were present, however, and Arya felt strangely safe with these odd people.

They were dark, not like she was in eyes and hair, but in all ways. Their skin was like copper, and Arya had caught her mother staring more than once. She thought they looked fine, and preferred talking to any one of them who would listen about riding through the desert and learning about Dornish literature and their traditions over anyone from Kings Landing. These were her people now, and she was one of them.

Despite the advantage of being at home, however, the Martells had to be careful to not insult their northern guests. In order to appeal to the tastes of the royal court, most of Arya’s bride gifts were hidden away, to be given to her later, assuming all went according to plan. Weapons and such would be deemed inappropriate for the young bride, and so Dornish guests doubled up, having something to present to her so as to not be seen without.

Arya was seated next to Trystane, watched closely by her parents. Ned had already read Trystane the riot act, she guessed, from the look her prince gave her. Catelyn merely looked at her carefully, as if considering many things. She was troubled, one could easily tell.

First the breakfast began, strong teas and sweet milky drinks and wine, and dishes of fruit. Light fair, so that no one would be too full for the feast later. Delicate pastries were also served, filled with jams and nuts or with concoctions of fruit to spread on top.

Halfway through the breakfast, gift presentation began. Some gifts were meant for both Arya and Trystane, but others were individual.

There were jewels, dresses and silks, a new saddle, falcon equipment. These Arya accepted graciously, even when the gift was a cover, usually the more feminine ones if it came from a great Dornish household. House Dalt gave her ten lemon trees from their own orchard, and house Jordayne brought her a giant plume of what they claimed were real golden feathers. There was also a chest full of bottles of oils ‘for all purposes,’ a vest made of deer velvet, the seems between the sheets of velvet Arya couldn’t make out due to the fine stitching. She was given a set of tiaras made from local material, including one carved from a solid piece of pink salt. There was a set of crops and whips she was sure were meant for more than riding, and a bottle of perfume that smelled like a northern forest, cold and serene with hints of oak and pine. The most interesting gift from any of the houses of the Stormlands was by house Estermont, being a giant sea turtle shell. It was big enough for a draft horse to lie down in, and she marveled at how huge the creature must have been. None of the presents of those sworn to the Lannisters made much of an impression. They were all gold and jewels and dresses, nothing Arya was interested in. But she thanked each person kindly, acknowledging the givers and thanking them with all the graces she had.

Then came the royal court, the King and Queen gifting the couple a new ship. This made Arya gasp aloud, and she would have hugged them had she not detested them so. This good rapport was ruined, however, when Joffrey handed her a wolf’s skin.

“It’s not from your sister’s, since your father sent the creature North to be buried. But I shot this myself hunting in the woods with father,” he said, smirking as he saw Arya struggle. She wanted to scream, to throw it back at him, to attack him now with her bare hands. His smile was a challenge, and she wanted to fight him, but she had to win this battle. She didn’t have to win the war, just one battle at a time. So Arya rose, and giving the prince a lovely smile, curtsied low for him. The way that his nostrils flared made Arya think of a scared animal, and she hoped that they could just maintain this lead. Her mother was right, at least in the regard that graces were a sort of armor.

The prince sat down with an angry look on his face, and Arya knew that she had beat him this time.

Her family and the Martells were next, and Arya could have laughed and cried at each gift.

Robb gave her another hawk to keep Small Claw company, and Serio gave her new shoes for dancing, which made Arya laugh. Her mother seemed to approve, but she didn’t know that they were for water dancing.

Jon shyly presented his gift, a book of stories of great ladies. It was an old tome, hard to come by, with tales of warrior maids and princesses and dragon riders and girls who needed saving and even a song of a healer woman and her journeys through the far east

“All women should read it, I think,” he had said, giving her a hesitant smile. Arya didn’t even care that her mother tried to hurry them along, ignoring her as she hugged Jon. Her mother’s hatred of the boy would not spoil this for her.

“I will treasure this always,” she said, and then noticed Greyjoy behind him. Theon gave her a wolf carved of driftwood, smoothed by the surf and beautifully rendered.

Oberyn Martell presented the couple with a new horse each. The pair were chestnut, red as copper and delicate, light geldings meant for the desert terrain of Dorne. Jewels and dresses followed from the other Martells, each a cover for the new weapon or polish kit or whatever other inappropriate item they intended to give her later. This kept her distracted, wondering what weapons awaited her should they succeed. She was so focused on this, that Arya didn’t even frown at the crib and bassinet her mother gave to her with a knowing smile, as if she had any idea of their future.

Sansa went last, shyly presenting her gift as if terrified that Arya would reject it. Knowing that Arya was so set in her ways, but she had to give her something from the heart, and she looked up at her sister shyly as she gave her a dress. As Arya looked at it, she gasped, not normally interested in clothes, but taken by it’s brilliance. This wasn’t some frilly thing to cover for another gift hidden somewhere. It was clear that her sister had put what was left of herself into this, the dress a pale gold of fine silk. But embroidered into it were wolves, seeming to turn into sand and flowers as they ran. The gray creatures were perfectly at home on this fine gown, and Arya cried and embraced her tightly, almost unable to speak.

This gift set her mind to the task at hand as she was led away by the Sand Snakes and her mother and sister to dress for the ceremony. She was going to be a princess of Dorne, and a warrior. Fear and pain meant nothing now. She had a job to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review! I am building this up a lot and I promise that there will be a big payoff to all of it. Just please bare with me, and maybe let me know how I'm doing. I love feedback and will try and answer questions posed about this wacky thing I'm trying to do.
> 
> Thank you all


	20. A Leap Over Flames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding ceremony takes place, and Arya waits for her cue at the feast to make her move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it has been so long! I have moved across the country and have been very busy. However, I will finish this fic and then work on my next ones.
> 
> Thank you for your patience, my wonderful readers. 
> 
> Please review and let me know what you think!

Arya looked deeply into the reflection of her own eyes, focused on her goal. It was time, and she had to be perfect so as to not give anything away and to keep their guests at ease. She had to be courteous and graceful today, to not insult a soul but instead keep all of their plans and intent hidden away. 

“Almost done,” said Obella, tying the stays in the back of the ivory dress. It supported Arya’s meager breasts, and created the illusion of a figure. In truth, Arya wasn’t built like a lady, but a fighter. Instead of wide hips or a tiny waist she was sleek, and this dress made her look like someone else entirely. It was padded in front and the neckline sloped in such a way as to create the illusion of cleavage. It was covered in tiny bits of sewn on crystal, creating a pattern that sloped down in front so as to make her waist look narrower. The Dornish accessory was a silk scarf about her neck, tied in back and flowing down her back in place of a train. 

Obella sneered as she made sure to arrange it over the white and silver maiden’s cloak so as to not hide it. 

Meanwhile, Elia tied the laces on her sandals, silver things that went all the way up her calves to her knees. They were strange, since they would only be seen when doing the R'hllor flame leap, but Arya liked the way that they looked all the same.

Braided into her hair were pearls, a gift from Ellaria who had made the accessory with silver thread and twenty perfectly shaped pearls of different colors.

She stood by and explained to Catelyn how to incorporate them into Arya’s braid, and Catelyn actually seemed to be listening to the paramour. 

Crowning her head was a small tiara like comb that fixed her hair in the middle where the braid began. It was silver, and Arya was at least pleased with the appearance. She was still a wolf, but maybe she was pretty enough that no one would notice if she wasn’t perfect

“You’re ready,” said Catelyn, smiling as she finished with Arya’s hair, tying it with a pierce of silk ribbon. She had redone Arya’s hair several times, neither she nor Ellaria quite pleased with it. They tried several different types of braid, settling on a fish hook braid pulled much less tight than Catelyn usually would have preferred, loose enough around Arya’s head to create volume so that it didn’t just make her face look longer. Instead it framed her rather attractively, Ellaria pointed out, and even Catelyn had to agree. 

“I’ll never be ready,” said Arya, gazing at herself as she stood straight, and her mother petted her shoulder lovingly.

“No woman ever is,” she said, stepping back and looking at her work, smiling and then finally allowing Obella to tie the ties on the maiden’s cloak. It featured flame patterns made of jewels along the inner edges, to represent the R’hllor faith, much to Lady Catelyn’s chagrin. But stepping back and looking her daughter up and down with the Sand Snakes and Ellaria, she approved of it with a smile. Then she did something none of them expected and hugged each of the bastard women tight, embracing them and then stepping back awkwardly, as if suddenly aware of what she had just done.

Arya noted this with pleasure but didn’t look away from her reflection, still focused on her own dark eyes in the mirror. She could do this.

\---------------------------------------------

Normally, when one commits an assassination, it is done in the dead of night, in secret. This was what Arya thought to herself as she started to walk down the aisle. There were a thousand people present in the sept, and all eyes were on her. 

Her father held her arm in his, and she focused on walking the way she was taught. Everything, from how fast she should walk to where she had to face had been rehearsed. It was a slow and arduous march, and yet she felt as though she were walking not toward her doom but to the man she… the man she loved, Arya decided. She tried to focus on this, uncertain but knowing that if she survived this, she had something good waiting for her on the other side.

That was the only way to describe it. Maybe it was unconventional, but she had chosen to protect him and be there for him, and she wasn’t sure there was much else to love. For his part, Prince Trystane stood proud, not even squinting to try and see her. He knew that he wouldn’t until she was at the altar with him. He wore a crimson robe with golden trim and the emblem of Sunspear emblazoned on his chest. His hair was pulled back and he wore a deep red crown as a prince of Dorne. Arya thought they looked like polar opposites, him in Dornish garb and herself in a pretty southern court gown. He was even wearing pointed shoes, and she wanted to laugh at the sight. 

But she couldn’t laugh, as this was a time to keep her composer, as her mother had always tried to teach her. 

All of Dorne, representatives of all the bannermen to the Martells, stood up in respect as she walked past. These were people sworn to her now, and she hoped that they would follow her into the pits of all seven hells if it came to it.

Music flared, harps and flutes and drums playing a song that fluttered and danced like the birds that stood in the rafters above everyone. Instead of great glass windows holding in heat and making the room stuffy, the ornately carved shutters on the windows were open, letting in light from outside as well as a cooling breeze. 

One foot after the other, and Arya was passing the royal family, the smug look on Joffrey’s face making her blood boil. But she only gave him the slightest of smiles, not even acknowledging the distress on Sansa’s face as Joff gripped her sister’s hand tighter. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, and thus her face was a mask of perfection that none would see through, and once again she thought to herself _ I win _ as she passed Prince Joffrey by.

Then she was passing her family, her mother, teary and wiping her eyes with a silk handkerchief, her baby brother Rickon not quite so little anymore, and Robb beaming at her with pride. She knew that he knew more than her, about what to expect, as well as Jon, who sat a few spaces down. Roslyn and then Greyjoy separated him from Robb, Catelyn probably insisting on the arrangement. Despite this, Jon gave her a hopeful, encouraging smile, and she knew that they could do this.

A few more steps to this long march, and she was there at the steps, and her father walked her up to Trystane. He kissed her hand and she felt all the support and strength that he had to give, and then Ned allowed Trystane to take her hands. She was given away.

All eyes faced forward then, and she could only look into the eyes of her beloved. She saw the way he narrowed his eyes, squinting and then a smile spreading across his face. “You look beautiful,” he whispered, and her breath caught in her throat. 

The septan then spoke, breaking the spell of the two betrothed, and they went through the steps of the ceremony. They spoke their vows, and drank from a chalice, and Arya’s maiden cloak was exchanged, but not without some struggle to get it under the trailing scarf instead of covering it. 

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” said Trystane, solemnly, and Arya closed her eyes and leaned into the kiss. She laughed as his breath tickled her face, and he laughed into the kiss as well, and before they could part the back doors to the sept were opened. 

The light blinded them for a moment, but neither forgot their cue, and then they were then running down the steps and out the door. The R’hllor fire leap had to be next so that all in Dorne would recognize their union.

Arya gripped at her skirts as they approached the flaming log, her hands sweating and the slick jeweled surface of the fabric slipping from her grasp. If her dress was burnt, that was be a bad sign and would predict a brutal and loveless union. She managed to get a hold of her dress and hitch it up to her waist and eliciting a gasp from both her mother and the queen, disgusted sounds of frustration from her brothers, and cheers from all the Dornishmen and women present, as she and Trystane hand in hand leapt over the flames

The pair continued to run for a moment, slowing and coming to a stop and catching their breath before they had to perform the final part of the ceremony. 

Hand in hand they approached the septan who had come outside for them, and they stopped in front of a branch of a weirwood, brought from the North. Arya supposed they could have used the small living tree her father had brought, but that would have looked rather silly. So she stood in front of the branch with Trystane and allowed her hand to be tied, and once done the two walked back into the sept, hands still bound together. 

Bound for life. 

\-----------------------------

The music was different, symbols and brass horns and drums. 

Arya remembered Robb’s wedding and all the familiar tunes that played on harps and flutes. But tambourines and the ringing of bells filled the hall as they stepped out into the courtyard for a first dance and toast. 

The courtyard had been transformed by tents and sheets of blue paper to block the sun and create walls, and small oil lamps were hung from palm trees. The waters from the fountains were perfumed and dyed dazzling colors, and the children chased each other around the legs of guests who stood or lounged or sat. Exotic birds flew between branches of trees and a fire-breather showed off in a corner, to the amazement of many. 

It was funny to Arya, that so much ado was made about hiding their Dornish culture, but now it seemed that the Martells would go all out and hide almost nothing. Maybe it was to cause confusion, to distract the guests even more, a sudden culture shock on top of all else to hide their intentions. Either way, she liked it, and was glad to see her mother sitting on a lounge couch and rocking Donnor and smiling, seeming genuinely happy about the occasion. 

Wine was served to all, food coming later, a first dance a tradition for the newlyweds to perform first for their guests

The King watched them with a look of annoyance, the food normally being served before the dancing at weddings in the royal court. But Arya was glad she would get to dance with Trystane, as she didn’t know if she would get another chance after this.

He took her hand and she bowed before allowing him to take her waist, and their quick steps found time with the whirring music. They spun, faster and faster, until Trystane let her go and she spun out of his grasp except for one hand. She stopped, raising one leg and then coming back into his grip. He held her from behind as they danced then, her face turned toward his, her eyes barely open. She still noticed the shocked look her mother gave to her, but despite herself Lady Catelyn still seemed to be happy for her. Arya dipped down over Trystane’s knee, and then came back up, and the two started spinning again, going along with the music until it stopped abruptly. They stopped, Trystane holding onto the small of her back, and she gazed up at him. 

A toast was given to the couple, and then they left the dance floor as others took their place, walking to the head of the table so that the feast could begin.

\--------------------------

Arya knew that they were almost there, and that she had to simply keep up the charade a bit longer. In truth, this was the hardest thing she had ever done. Normally, she would say what she thought, be truthful and upfront and do what she wished. Her mother had tried for years to get her to behave this well, walk and speak and dress properly. Keeping secrets and lying were things she hated, and acting like a lady was always a lie to Arya. But it was do this or die, and so lie she would.

At least the Martells had made it easier for her, not telling her of the full plan and only giving her what she needed to know. Fewer secrets for her to keep meant the more likely they were to get away with things. She knew that it had something to do with what order the food was served in, and who got what serving, but she didn’t know the details beyond her role and the signal. First a dish of dried desert gourds and greens came, followed by tiny fish that only live in puddles during the rare occurrence of rain, these served in a vinegar sauce. They were salty and the taste dried out her mouth. 

She watched Sansa, who appeared genuinely happy despite being on the verge of tears. Arya wondered if her sister was jealous of her union, and didn’t pay much attention as the courses came and went. Snake soap, roasted desert fowl stuffed with dates and nuts, stuffed leaves full of lamb, candied fruits and cheese with dates speared with skewers, scorpions set ablaze with spirits, a peacock roasted and replaced back within it’s skin, plume spread in a showery display, salads of rose petals with cream, white crabs still in their shells that tasted sweet as honey, and a keg of something sealed with wax, dug up out of the ground.

This course did catch Arya’s attention, as the seal was broken and the luscious scent filled the room. She stared in awe as the fermented plum sauce was opened, and it was explained that it had stayed in the ground for ten years waiting for the next martell wedding, and then was ladled out onto a bed of mushrooms and served to all.

It just so happened that it was after this course that Jamie Lannister had to excuse himself. He had been able to maintain propriety, merely a twitch of his face giving him away before he turned to his sister and the King and begged their leave. 

Cersie sighed to see him go, but beneath his composer one could almost see the King Slayer’s guts twisting into knots. He was obviously in great pain, to the trained eye.

Arya watched him go, trying to not appear like he was clutching at his stomach, but she could tell that as soon as the doors closed behind him, he would probably collapse and have to crawl to the privy. 

“Dornish food plays havoc on the digestion of some,” commented Obara, challenging the king to see who could down their octopus first, a delicacy only served at weddings, caught off their eastern shore. 

Two more courses, and then a few more people left the room sick, including Quentyn, who didn’t even make it out of sight before vomiting, to the loud disgust of all. Arya laughed, composing herself quickly with a glance from her mother, who shook her head in disapproval.

The sand toads were blamed, a fiery dish with greasy flesh and empty of innards but stuffed with cherries, said to be too much even for most Dornishmen, as it was such a rarity. Prince Doran made a comment about being glad that Quentyn was not expected to rule, and all laughed as the tension relaxed and the mess was cleaned, the feast continuing. 

Finally, a last toast was proposed as the pigeon pie was brought out, a northern tradition which the Martells had chosen to honor. The pie was cut open and birds flew out, and each guest was given their own small golden chalice of wine. Arya knew her cue, and she leaned in and kissed Trystane chastely on the mouth, tasting something waxy on his lips, and then downed her wine. She didn’t turn and look, instead listening as the room filled with the sounds of choking, stumbling, and screaming.

This was the moment she had been waiting for, and without hesitation, she warged into Nymeria, who patted into the room to watch the scene unfold.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I will get started on the next chapter right away, as I don't want to keep y'all in suspense for too long.
> 
> I am hoping to be done with this before quarantine ends.
> 
> Anyway, please leave your feedback, good, bad and ugly.
> 
> Thanks again and Happy Apocalypse!


	21. Protect Your Son!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A secret is revealed, and the Lannisters go on the attack. Most of the Starks and Martells escape, but a few disappear in their retreat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my move to Oakland has been busy and full of a lot of adjustment. Also, I must admit that I am not the best at writing action scenes, instead describing settings and feelings. Still, I tried my best and I hope that y'all enjoy.

Seeing out of Nymeria’s eyes was always disorienting at first, as she was sharing a body with another being as well as sensing the world in a completely different way. Arya could see fewer colors this way, but could hear and smell better. Having four legs had been difficult to get used to at first, but over the years she had grown accustomed to the dire wolf’s body. 

The sensation of warging made her feel safe, this a feeling that had never changed for her.

She felt the warm familiarity of Nymeria’s thoughts, coming to her like direct observations, but with more raw feeling. The first time she had gone inside the direwolf’s head, the way Nymeria thought had been jarring. The animal was quite literal in how she thought, and emotions felt stronger. After years of practice she was used to the way that Nymeria thought and felt, and this time Arya instantly picked up on Nymeria’s patient yet apprehensive mood. She reassured her that she was safe, that they were safe for the time being. Then, she carefully peaked around the corner of the door, unsure of whether she should enter or not. The chaos was still unfolding, the sounds of shrieks were not pleasant to her ears, and Arya didn’t relish smelling all the vomit and body fluids through Nymeria’s nose up close. 

However, her thoughts were interrupted when the sound of footsteps caught her attention, and she turned and saw Ghost, quiet as ever. 

_ Hi Jon _

_ We should go in, protect our human bodies _

It was still strange, speaking to each other as wolves, but it had only been recently that she had learned to do this. Hesitating only a moment, she conceded without questioning, just reassuring herself and Nymeria. 

With her nose she opened the door a crack more, hesitating a moment before entering the open hall, Jon following silently.

It was a battlefield of its own kind, the guests fighting internal opponents instead of each other. The scent, which Arya had tried to block out of her mind, became stronger and impossible to ignore as they made their way through the room, overpowering in its volume.

It was a rancid smell of vomit and shit, as about half the guests were choking and gagging. There were bannermen and sworn swords puking into the fountains or behind tables or garden plants, servants scurrying to clean and people barking orders, trying to figure out what was going on. The odor was almost all consuming, but somehow still became worse the deeper into the scene they went. 

Her eyes watered, and Arya involuntarily lapped at her face, the scent becoming worse as it clung to her tongue.

_ Ew, it’s like I can taste them _

_ Not now, Arya. Look! _

She looked where Jon pointed with his nose, and saw Robb was patting Roslyn’s back, reassuring her as Theon made a show of fanning Jon’s unconscious body. It was a shame that no one had told her of what to expect, but it was necessary. Still, the tears and vomit on her sister in law’s face made Arya wince for her sake.

It was a challenge to get all the way to the high table without stepping in puddles of purge and excrement, but Arya and Jon weaved their way through the chaos to the table where their bodies lay. There was also the noise, the sound of people bending over tables or puking into plants, cries of confusion and disgust, drunken yells, and hollers for help. It didn’t let up, servants running about trying to lend aid and being brushed off or yelled and cursed at. 

One sound stood out among the others, her ears picking up the choked gurgling and desperate broken cries, and Arya glanced about, finding the prince clutching his throat. His face was red and blood was starting to bead at the corners of his eyes. He was dying. 

_ Good riddance _ was all she thought, until her eyes caught her sister Sansa, who appeared almost hysterical in her confused cries. Her eyes were bloodshot and the way she shook as she cried out told Arya that yes, her shock was real. Sansa didn’t know what was happening, just that her husband was dying and so were other people and she didn’t understand. But there was something else underneath, not yet allowed to be felt, but there and waiting until it was safe to feel. Arya could almost smell the sense of relief her sister felt.. 

Instead of going to her, however, she approached her own body. She needed to guard herself, make sure that her human body didn’t come to any harm. They could have given her a potion for this, to make her look like another victim, but then she wouldn’t be able to come out of the induced sleep instantly if need be. 

This was the final piece, she realized, to a brilliant scheme. No one had given her every detail, but seeing it playing out, watching as everyone searched for someone to blame, she knew that there were too many targets.

Catelyn was kneeling over Arya, crying and trying to wake her. Glazed eyes and completely limp, she looked half dead. To Catelyn, Arya was sick, just as her son Rickon, who had been carried off to their chambers an hour before to vomit. She couldn’t lose her child, not the one who had made her realize her mistakes, who had grown so strong and lovely despite her unruly nature. Catelyn knelt over her unconscious body and wept.

Arya nosed up to her and Lady Catelyn ignored the direwolf, so instead she sat watching her unconscious self. Implicating that she had gotten sick as well would allow for a good alibi, as no one would suspect their ruse. She pondered this, hoping it would work, ignoring the queen’s bawling that had steadily grown louder. 

Instead, she looked for her prince, who was cradling the form of his father, who lay sprawled from his wheelchair. That was strange, as Arya didn’t think that Doran was part of the plan, but as she hadn’t been informed of who the targets were, she supposed it could be anyone. 

Her thoughts were pulled away from this, however, as she noticed the door she and jon had come through swinging open. Jaime Lannister stumbled in, clutching his stomach and trying to grasp for his sword, which slipped from its sheath and fell out of his reach. The King Slayer seemed to wobble like a drunk man or a toddler, falling on his face as he tried to retrieve his sword. 

Many eyes turned to him, some laughing despite themselves. If she had been capable, Arya would have guffawed as the mighty King Slayer and golden knight was reduced to an oafish and uncoordinated little whelp of a lion cub. 

Arya would have continued to relish the sight, but the queen’s cries were only increasing in hysteria, and she finally turned to see what all the screaming was. 

Cersie was clutching the limp body of her eldest son. Unlike Jaime, the pathetic sight was painful to look at. The queen’s violet dress was stained brown from vomit and her hair was fraying out in all ways, her tiara hanging off her head like an antler held on by just a strip of skin. But the boy in her arms was what truly made it hard to look. It was obvious that Joffrey was dead already, the vomit at the corners of his mouth red with blood. 

“Jaime,” cried the queen, finally putting together a coherent word among her incoherent wails. 

Her twin came forward, having picked up his sword and looking about for a culprit to fight, despite it being obvious he was in no state to.

Suddenly, the King grabbed Cersie’s arm, thundering something and gripping hard enough to bruise.

"Get off, you oaf,” yelled the queen, wriggling out of King Robert’s grasp. She dragged Joffrey’s body with her toward her brother, barely evading the King as he trudged after her, as if getting him away from the table and whatever poisoned morsel he had swallowed would revive him.

“Jaime, come help. Save your son!” she yelled frantically, trying to reach him before Robert could get to her. However, the words seemed to cut through the air and suddenly all eyes were trained on the queen and her dead son, as if the previous chaos had never happened. It felt as though all the air had been sucked out of the room, the silence that followed deafening. 

This silence was broken by a roar from the King, vomit dribbling down his beard as he charged toward his wife, the rage in his eyes making his gaze almost blood red.

“What!?” he demanded, stepping forward but then coming down on one knee as if a hard truth were suddenly crashing in on him. His gaze went back and forth between his wife and her twin, and the dead boy still held in Cersie’s desperate grasp.

He made for them then, and Arya stepped back, not so much afraid, but not wanting to get in between the King and his target.

But before she could decide on a plan of action, unwarge, drag her body out, run, she heard the command. 

Cersie, having finally reached Jaime and clinging to him for dear life, yelled for her guards. 

“Kill them, kill them all,” she yelled, no longer hysterical, but intent. The lioness was awake and seeking revenge, that voice betraying no emotion. Arya looked about, and saw the men dressed in Lannister crimson, noticing them as if they were appearing out of the ether. From behind plants and tables and fountains, covered in purge or barely able to stand, but still ready to defend their queen. 

“Stop them,” was all that was said by someone else, and Arya turned and saw that it was Oberyn, standing tall and in contrast to the others in the room. Instead of seeming sickly and pathetic, the red viper had his hood unfurled and was ready to strike.

It was as if the courtyard itself were splitting, as the houses of Dorne came and surrounded the Starks and the Martells. For a moment, Arya wasn’t sure what was happening, but she saw that Deric Dondarion and the houses of the Stormlands were gathering closer around the King. However, all were outnumbered by the Lannister men, who were gathering from all sides. Almost none had their swords on them, but it felt as though this face off were a battle in it’s own right, and it seemed that the Lannisters were winning. The tension felt like it was about to snap, like a wire, but then the King broke it as he roared “kill the Lannister bitch, incestuous slut!” At that, the Kings’ Guard minus Jaime, charged the opposing men in crimson

The Lannister men were scuffling about, the few who were armed grabbing their swords or else trying to stand off against the Stormlanders with their hands.

Arya watched as Robb picked up Jon’s unconscious body, and her mother picked up hers. She was glad of the men who her father had brought, and without thinking she grabbed onto Trystane’s wrist with her mouth, dragging him after her. They had to get to the abandoned tower and seal the doors before the Lannisters could properly arm themselves, only then could they regroup and form a plan of attack. 

Oberyn led the way, waving an arm as if teasing the Lannisters, but shouting for the Starks and their bannermen to follow him.

“Lord Stark, your family. This way,” he yelled, and they ran with him across the open yard and through an entryway. They raced through the twisting hallways, Catelyn tripping and her ankle breaking in a loud snap, Nedd stopping to help his lady wife. But before her father had to choose whether to carry Catelyn or her, Serio seemed to come out of nowhere and had hoisted up Arya onto a shoulder.

“I promised to protect her, Lord Stark,” he said without stopping. Arya continued his example, letting go of Trystane but nudging him as they ran, not wanting him to get lost. 

“Thanks, love,” he managed, gripping the scruff of her neck. She only wished that she could look around and make sure everyone else was safe. Where were the Sand Snakes, her new sisters? She couldn’t answer that question as she continued toward the shadow tower, a place designated in advance in case the worst happened and they needed to retreat. The only other piece of the plan she had known about. 

Stark and Martell men and women ran and fought and kept them going, the Lannister men picking up anything they could to fight as they drove them backwards. But Arya was only focused on getting her family, her husband, and her body to safety. The fighting could wait. 

_ Almost there  _ she thought as they turned the corner, but then an arrow shot over Trystane’s head, barely missing as it whizzed to the ground. A few arrows more arrows followed, and Arya realized they must have found one of the armories, and now they were really in danger.

But the heavy door to the tower was in front of them then, and once inside, they could barricade the entrance with the furniture that had been stored away inside for the royal visit. It was like being herded into a tight carol, the door open and the Lannister men still being held back by her family and husband’s bannermen. They made it inside and kept going a short way, Arya then turning to check on everyone. Her parents, Prince Oberyn and Ellaria, most of the Sand Snakes, Robb with Rosalyn and Jon’s body, but she suddenly realized that she didn’t see Ghost, until she heard a shriek. 

Loreza was just outside the door, a Lannister man having grabbed her. But then a flash of white and a snarl, and the man was on the ground and the girl was running inside, straight to Ellaria’s waiting arms. Ghost turned away from the man slowly, red covering his entire front as he padded into the room. 

Ned Stark stood at the door as all were ushered inside, counting heads and refusing to leave anyone out. All he had was a dagger, as it wasn’t considered courteous to go around armed as a guest in the house of another. Yet it was clear that even if anyone Lannisters managed to get in them, he would not let them pass. The quiet wolf was awake again.

The door was locked and secured, leaving some men still fighting outside. Eddard looked heavily at the door, angry to see it close on the men who had sworn to protect him and his family.

“Is everyone here? Who’s injured?” he asked, taking the lead. It was like he was stepping out of a shadow, the way Eddard changed when his family was threatened

“Ahh,” came a normally sultry voice, and all looked to see that Oberyn was splayed on the ground, an arrow through his thigh. Blood was trickling from the wound, but slowly, and Tyene was already on it, putting pressure on the area and having her sisters tear strips of cloth, so Ned turned back to his family. 

Jon was unconscious, as well as Arya. Sansa was there, shaken but gotten out alive, Rosalyn having managed to drag her out. 

He even found that Rickon and Donner were there, having been brought by servants just in case.

Even the dire wolves were present, standing by their masters patiently, as if ready to defend them if anyone tried to do them harm. For a moment it felt like they could relax, like they were finally safe and all could let out a collectively held breath. However, this only lasted a moment, as the absent were noticed quickly.

“Wait, where’s Theon?” asked Robb, looking about in a panic, having thought his best friend had been right by his side the whole time. 

Ned suddenly felt flush with shame, as he had forgotten to keep track of his ward. He knew that Theon had probably got tangled up in the scuffle, and only hoped that he had the good sense to escape and not engage. 

He had thought that he had taken stock of everyone, but then a horrified scream ripped through the room and all eyes were on Elia, who for once seemed angry, the wildness of Dorne showing in her dark eyes. “Where’s Obella? We left my sister! They got my sister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review and tell me what you think! I appreciate the feedback and am happy to answer questions.


	22. The Fallout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Elia sneak into the Lannister camp to try and find Theon; Ned goes to parlay with the King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long. Been busy with a lot of stuff out here in California. 
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy the chapter and let me know what you think!

“What do we do now?” asked Roslyn, holding onto Robb’s arm. She clutched Donner and kept her eyes shut tight, afraid, knowing that everything had gone wrong. Doing what was asked of her did nothing, it had all fallen apart despite her going along and giving no suspicion. Logically, she knew that her she had given no suspicion to the royal family and the outcome had nothing to do with her performance. But she still had racing thoughts of if she had been better then maybe the royal family wouldn’t have suspected, if only she had been better. 

Robb kept a comforting hand on her shoulder, torn between looking strong for his father and his men, comforting his wife, and checking on his brother. 

Normally, the balance he constantly had to maintain weighed him down and made him feel pulled in every direction. However, in this dark room with the occasional sound of fighting outside and the scared children and injured and the confusion inside, he just wanted to sigh and give in to despair. That was something he had always envied of Jon, that he could brood and be sad about how things weren’t fair. Being the heir to Winterfell meant that he always had to be strong for others, even when things weren’t fair, or when they went horribly wrong. He wanted to drop the facade, to embrace his unconscious brother and try to awaken him, to hold onto his wife and most of all, to cry. To cry and say that he didn’t know how to save them. 

The smell of blood didn’t help, nor the dark winding stairs that led up into the height of the tower. The room at the base was filled with furniture that had been hidden away for the royal visit, so the Starks and Martells present had to sit or lean against low furniture or crates. It was dark due to the windows being high up, along the spiraling staircase that led to individual rooms, which were often used for imprisonment of nobles. 

It was fitting, as the pounding at the door, clatter of feet, clang of swords, and shouts outside made it seem as though they were imprisoned, even as the sounds began to fade away. Soon the sound seemed to trail off into the distance, minutes dragging into an eternity later, a question finally broke the silence.

“Why did King Robert order his wife killed?” asked Robb, petting Roslyn’s hair and trying to figure out what they had all just witnessed. He had mulled it over and the scene made no sense, and figuring out what had happened was the first step to making a plan. “She told her brother the King Slayer to save his son. But Ser Jaime has no children.”

"Actually, he has three, that we know off,” said Eddard, and his wife looked up in surprise.

“I’ve been doing some research, but I needed more proof. It’s such a terrible accusation, I couldn’t bring it before the King without evidence of some kind…”

“Is that what you’ve been so distracted about, Ned?” asked Catelyn, surprised. “What about Sir Jaime having bastards deserves so much attention?” But as soon as she said it, she realized 

the implication between Sir Jaime and the Queen, and she paled at the very idea.

“When did you suspect this?” she asked, a nervous tone to her voice. But also a weariness, as if Catelyn had seen her husband fretting and working into the small hours of the night and unable to find answers, and she being unable to comfort him.

“I’ve been looking into Robert’s bastards for the past year, but wasn’t sure what I was looking for. It was his brother Stannis who brought it to my attention.”

“You knew?” asked Sansa, looking up and glaring at her father accusingly. “You knew what he was, but you let him have me? You allowed a monster to lay with me.”

“If I had been wrong, accusing the queen of such vile things would have been treason,” he pleaded, but Sansa shook her head.

“We’ve all committed treason. Everyone in this tower. I wrote to the Martells and begged them for help, Arya agreed to marry to lure us all down here, the Martell’s poisoned Joffrey and made us all sick to cover their tracks, you accuse the queen of fucking her brother, and I killed the prince’s spawn in my womb rather than birth a monster. We’re all traitors,” she sobbed, shaking her head as if the world didn’t make sense anymore. “If all of us could commit such unforgivable crimes against our king, then why couldn’t you save me, father?”

At that, Ned broke down and cried. He had no good answer, and the truth that he had failed to protect his child hung around his neck like a stone. He couldn't look Sansa in the eye, so he threw his hands around her and she sobbed against his shoulder. Damn how his men would see him, he thought, a good Lord had to admit his mistakes.

“What are we going to do?” cried Catelyn, stroking Arya’s unseeing face. All this time, and Arya watched from inside Nymeria, feeling safer sharing a body with her direwolf. As strange as warging could feel, being in direct contact with her wolf’s feelings and thoughts made her feel, if not fully safe, then at least understood. She thought about unwarging, but before she could consider whether her mother would allow her to fight, her train of thought was cut short by Obara, who threw a brass urn down to the ground, the echoing clang getting everyone’s attention.

“I’m not hiding here like a coward!” Obara snarled, searching among the furniture for a possible weapon.

“I agree,” said Jon, sitting up suddenly, startling Robb. Going back to his two legged body was jarring, the senses always less intense, except for sight and touch. Jon immediately regretted sitting up so suddenly, swaying and trying to reorient himself. 

“Jon!” Robb exclaimed, confused but glad to see his brother was alright. He got down and helped Jon to sit on a chaise, earning a look from his mother as he helped Jon take a seat right next to Roslyn. He seemed to not notice, though, giving his brother a protective pat on the shoulder.

“So, before we make a plan of attack, we have to know our enemies' whereabouts. Is there any way of sending out a spy? Finding out the Lannister positions within sunspear and how strong they are is vital before we make any moves. He spoke with authority to all present, and the room was stunned. But he had to step up, simce it seemed no one else would.

“There’s a passage out,” said Oberyn, grimacing as Nymeria finished a makeshift tourniquet for his leg. He sat on the floor in a small pool of blood, Tyene working away silently on his leg, Nymeria getting things for her sister as needed. 

“Where does it lead?” asked Robb, frowning. He didn’t want whoever they sent out to stumble into the middle of the frey.

“The outermost yard,” winced Oberyn, as Tyene cut away the leg of his pants and started cleaning the deep wound left by the arrow. “The only problem is that it leads almost directly out into the open where anyone could see us if we tried to reach the outer wall. A couple of spies could probably get through without too much notice.” the prince of Dorne kept surprisingly calm despite the wound, although it might have been due to the blood loss.

“So it’s settled, we send a few, those who won’t be noticed, to determine where the Baratheons and Lannisters are, and then make a plan,” said Jon, standing up as if to volunteer.

“No offence, but you’re more noticeable as Lord Eddard’s bastard than ever,” said Robb, putting a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Half the room watched you collapse, and you look so much like father, you’re sure to be noticed.”

“Then who do we send?” 

It was decided to send out a few servants who had followed, dressed in Dornish wear and made to look like they had been caught up in the middle of the fighting. 

When Oberyn gave Elia leave to disguise herself and join them, Arya followed, still inside Nymeria’s head. She knew that if she unwarged, her mother wouldn’t allow her to follow. A stone in the floor was pulled up, revealing a twisting staircase into the dark underneath Sunspear, she padded after the servants and followed them down into the earth.

\----------------------------------------------------

The tunnel opened up halfway beneath a heavy stone in the yard, the space underneath it well hidden by an out jutting of the stone itself. The space they had to crawl out from was so low to the ground, that Arya feared that Nymeria was too big, but by flattening herself against the dusty ground she managed to squeeze out, followed by Elia and the few servants who had followed. 

The boulder sat close enough to the gate to hide the space to squeeze out from, but far enough that it looked like a part of the landscaping. It was at an angle in the shadows that one wouldn’t notice unless trying to climb underneath. 

Arya licked her paws and shook to get some of the dust off her short fur, and apologized to Nymeria for the scrapes that she got, the Direwolf being patient with her. 

Once all were out, they rounded the boulder and saw the Lannister camp. It seemed obvious in hindsight, that the Lannisters would have gone back to their tents and regrouped. Still, they needed to find any outliers and locate all of their positions if possible. 

Elia started toward the camp, and Arya followed, occasionally reassured by pats from the Sand Snake, who kept her face hidden by a hood and walked quietly beside her. 

The camp was made of crimson tents that bloomed out like a peacock’s feathers, the shadows cast by the setting sun causing them to appear to glow as the lamps and torches inside of them were lit. 

The Lannister’s camp was in the outer yard, a place of less honor than that given to the King’s men, However, there were more banner men to the Lannisters than therer were to the Baratheons in Sunspear. Quietly, quickly, the small party snuck among them, picking up baskets and things to carry about, so as to blend in as members of the Lannister camp themselves.

They passed men drinking and polishing swords or putting up horses. Squires polished armor and servants scurried about. A few stray cats and even dogs were loose in the yard, the kennel boys not seeming to have kept them tied. It occured to Arya that the kennel boys to the Lannisters might have been dead. The thought was disturbing, but the loose dogs made her cover a little more convincing. 

Still, she felt that they didn’t have much time, as night was falling and the crowded camp seemed to swell with the men who had survived the battle.

Arya sniffed carefully, trying to catch the scents of those missing, uncertain but determined to find them. She had found that as a direwolf, she could describe and remember scents much better. Jon smelled of woods and oil and cold, similar to Robb, but less smoky. Sansa naturally smelled piquent and rosy, and Theon-

Suddenly, she noticed something familiar, a note of salt and leather, and the image of Theon Greyjoy came to mind. She pulled Elia by the sleeve, and they slipped together past tents and behind rows of armor. There were a few dogs loose among the Lannister camp, and Arya hoped that she would pass for one of them, slinking along the ground in the dim evening light. She kept following that pull, the aromatic image of the ironborn, deeper and deeper into the Lannister camp until she knew that he had to be close...

Then there he was, blood trickling down his face but smiling as ever, tied to a post on the ground and looking up at the queen like he was amused and taken aback. There were six men guarding him, all standing in full armor and at attention. There seemed to be someone else, too, sitting in the shadows of a dark tent. Arya could smell someone familiar, but couldn’t quite place who it was. 

Before they could be noticed, They ducked behind some large casks, crouching low so that no one could see them between the barrels and the tents in the fading light

“I’ll ask you again, who planned this, the Starks, or the Martells? Were they in on this together?” she demanded. The queen looked frightful. Most of the filth from the feast gone, her hair was wild, still damp from a washing and partially clinging to her skin, her tiara gone and her dress clearly thrown on and not laced up with care as was her norm. But it wasn’t the disheveled appearance of the queen that filled Arya with dread, but the look on her face. She didn’t quite know how to describe it, the set jaw and wild eyed look of someone who had nothing left to lose. For the first time ever, even just inside the head of her direwolf, Arya found that she was afraid of the queen. 

Theon didn’t appear to be intimidated by her, however, and this worried Arya all the more. If he said something stupid, he could get himself killed. 

“Cute that you think I’d squeal like some sorry Greenlander,” said Theon, giving the queen a wry smile. “If you really want to see what I know, why don’t you hitch your skirts up and I’ll give those less mouthy lips of yours a talking to.”

Cersie’s face seemed to go flat, even the venom draining from her as she considered him. 

“I’m not playing games here, Greyjoy. My son is dead and I will know who is responsible,” she said, deadly determined. 

Theon just shook his head, not even looking at her anymore. “If you want to know who’s responsible for his death, I’ll tell you.” At this Cersie perked up, not pleased, but interested, needing answers.

“The person responsible for your son’s death, is you. You raised a monst”- Theon was cut off by a backhand to the face, the sound of the slap making Arya wince. 

“We have ways of making you talk, boy,” said a familiar voice, and from the dark tent the figure moved. When he started to stand, Arya realized who it was and why he smelled familiar, and Sir Gregor Clegane emerged into the last fading light. The knight leaned down and put a large hand around Theon’s neck, the Ironborn not flinching or breaking his smile the entire time. 

“Sir Gregor, we’re not there yet with our guest. You’re less than gentle, and we need him to be able to speak,” said the queen, her jaw set and voice overly sweet. At that the Mountain let go of Theon’s throat without question, and Theon hid his relieved, deep sighs in a raspy chuckle. 

“He seems unlikely to know much,” said the queen, shaking her head. “The Martell’s are too smart to let this one in on their plans, and I’m sure even the Starks aren’t that stupid, to trust the Ironborn. We’ll see what he does know, but keep him in one piece. However, we will send a message to that tower they’ve held themselves up in if we don’t have our answers by morning,” said Cersie, looking at Greyjoy as if pleased by something an amusing pet had done. 

Arya couldn’t stand to hear this, and let out an involuntary growl. At this, Cersie turned toward where they were hiding with suspicion. 

“Let no one leave the camp after Sundown. I want the area thoroughly swept for spies. And don’t leave the Ironborn unguarded, I wouldn’t want him to be lonely” she said, and several of her men came forward and stood at attention around Theon, leaving him with no chance of escape or rescue. 

At this, Arya and Elia looked at each other, and then slowly backed up, silent as they finally ducked back behind a tent. It was now almost dark out, and they had to make it back to the entrance to the tunnel. They didn’t know where the others in their party had gone, but they didn’t have time to look. Arya slunk along and Elia followed quickly, hiding in the longer shadows until they were almost out of the camp. They were almost home free, when they heard a member of the camp call out to them, asking where Elia was going. Another guard joined the first, but the two didn’t turn or stop, just continued, increasing their speed steadily as they went. It was impossible to run without looking like they were trying to escape, but as they were followed, more voices joining the first two, Elia and Arya tried to slink along quicker and evade campture. Suddenly from off to their side, horns were being blown and tents were opening, and the two were suddenly bolting to get out of the camp. Arya was faster in Nymeria’s body, but wouldn’t leave Elia behind. There were Lannister men closing in on all sides, and deciding on a route, she grabbed Elia by the wrist. Then Arya bolted, pulling Elia up onto her back as she ran as fast as she could, narrowly avoiding two men who dove for them. 

Arya knew that she couldn’t keep up the pace, as dire wolves were not meant to be ridden, so she spotted the bolder and ran for it, avoiding Lannister men and hedge knights and just kept running until they were out of the camp.

They were pursued by half a dozen men, more coming out to see what was going on, but luckily she was able to run into a bunch of bushes where no one could see them, and the pursuers were soon darting about, trying to find them. They waited until there was a clear path, none of the Lannister men looking in their direction, when suddenly she took off, low to the ground and as silent as she could be, making it to the bolding. Instead of crawling under, she threw herself onto the ground and Elia rolled off, slipping under the rock and crawling through the tunnel, followed by Arya. 

Down in the safety under ground, they paused and just looked at each other, panting heavily. There had been several close calls, but the two girls knew that they had to hurry back with the information they had gathered.

Arya decided, as they caught their breath, to unwarg. As much as she loved being a wolf, she had to get her family to help her to save Theon.

\------------------------

Arya jolted upright, her eyes clearing of their grey haze and she took deep breaths, orienting herself back. Her mother jumped up, startled, but Arya ignored her, turning to her brothers immediately.

“The queen has Theon!” she yelled, standing and then dodging as her mother tried to grab her.

“How do you know?” asked her father, who stepped forward and laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Because she’s a warge,” answered Oberyn, tentatively sitting up, his tied off leg paining him. 

“A what?” demanded Catelyn, looking at Arya and feeling her forehead, trying to determine if her daughter was well.

“She’s a skin changer, like in old nan’s tales,” said Jon, earning a look from Catelyn, who seemed to pause as she considered him. 

She raised a brow, never having listened to Jon before. Instead Catelyn looked to her husband, hoping that he would dismiss the words of the bastard, but he looked down at Arya gently, getting down on one knee.

“Arya, I always said you were so much like Lyanna,” he murmured, touching his daughter’s hair gently. She beamed up at him, so happy to prove herself to her father.

“Did you see my daughter?” asked Oberyn, but Arya just shook her head no. 

All were quiet for a moment, when suddenly the stone in the floor flew open and Elia stuck her head out, panting and disheveled, followed by Nymeria.

“The Lannisters took your hostage as a hostage,” she said, looking at Lord Eddard and addressing him casually.

The wolf walked up to Arya and licked her face sweetly, and she petted her head soothingly. However, she needed to get those present to listen to her, and she stood up straight and pulled her hand back quickly, Nymeria stepping back as if she understood.

“The Lannister’s regrouped outside. We didn’t see where the Baratheons were. They have Theon, and the queen and the mountain are going to torture him for information,” she bit her lip, tears welling up in her eyes, but then she caught sight of Catelyn, and took a deep breath. She had to lead, to convince those present that what she had seen and done were true. 

“The queen doesn’t know what happened, only that her son is dead, and she’s now out for blood. There were about twenty tents, fully armed and in the outermost of the yards. If you don't believe that I saw all this, Elia can back up what I said.” She spoke with a conviction, calm and serious, and the way she described things made those who didn’t believe in wargs fall silent in thought.

“What do we do?” 

"We rescue him, after all, if anything bad happens to him, there’s no saying what Balon Greyjoy will do,” said Eddard, solemnly.

“Oh no,” said Robb, gulping as he realized what he had done. “All of the Stark Bannermen, they’re prepared to ride south. Some are already at the neck, leaving their holdfasts unprotected.”

“We must save him then,” agreed Ned, only for Jon to shake his head. 

“We should save him because it’s the right thing, father,” he intoned, looking at Eddard with conviction. Eddard looked at Jon for a brief moment, and then laughed, shaking his head. 

“When did you boys learn to get along? No matter, but Jon is right. We must rescue him.”

“And what about my daughter?” asked Oberyn, pointing at Eddard accusingly. 

“We’ll find her as well,” he agreed.

“Mother, I’m sorry,” said Arya, and Catelyn looked at her duaghter curiously for a moment, before Arya reached down and tore her dress, ripping away the skirts up to her knees and leaving a long tear up to her thigh. She tore off the outer bodice, and ripped the sleeves off as well. Serio handed her needle, which he had kept for safekeeping, and she smiled as she took it and pulled it from its sheath, spinning and then going into a diving jab with it.

Catelyn gaped at her, but then tersely smiled, shaking her head. “I presume that this is what you always meant by ‘dancing?” she asked.

Arya just smiled, “Well, I can also dance, but this is much more fun.”

“So what’s our plan?” asked Robb, turning to his father, who looked solemnly back, and then turned back toward the door.

“I’m going to see if I can speak to Robert. If anyone can negotiate with him, it’s me. Stay here until I return,” he said, turning toward the door.

“You can’t leave!” insisted Catelyn, approaching her husband, who held up a hand as he looked at her. 

“Catelyn, I was raised with Robert, and he is like a brother to me. If anyone can get him on our side, it’s me. There’s not enough of us to resist the Lannisters alone. I must go,” he said, and the solemn way he spoke made Catelyn realize that he couldn’t be reasoned with.

“Father, what if you don’t return?” asked Robb, stepping forward. He hid the fear in his voice well, and Arya knew that none but those closest to him would realize that he was just a scared boy who needed his father..

“If I’m not back by the morrow, then find a way to escape, save yourselves. Take a ship back up north, our bannermen will protect you. Don’t try and save me,” he said, receiving a nod from his eldest in return. 

Then, without another word, Eddard turned slowly, as if walking toward the chopping block that he had sentenced many to himself. Then, he ordered the door unbarred and he gave Sir Rodrik a nod. The door was opened and he walked through, the door shutting and being rebarred behind him.

\-------------------

The door shutting behind him felt like a final seal to his fate, and he took a deep breath as he began

Eddard walked silently through Sunspear, careful to make his hands visible as he went, showing that he was unarmed. Despite this, he stayed quiet, his first go to being to avoid detection. He didn’t know where Robert would be, but assumed that his party would have regrouped, as the Lannisters had. The Layout of Sunspear was somewhat unfamiliar, but he knew the general direction of where the inner yard where the feast had been held was. He turned as he navigated toward his goal, only second guessing the direction for a moment. 

Eddard tried not to look about too much, seeing the blood on the walls, arrows sticking up from the floor, or even the occasional body disturbed him. He had always felt the weight of bloodshed, and the knowledge that it was his doing weighed on him even more. Everything had been his doing since his sister, since the rebellion. 

He thought about all of the mistakes he had made, the sacrifices and choices, as well as his silence. It always seemed to go wrong, any way he thought about telling his wife about Jon, or about what he wanted for Arya, or what Sansa was going through. Was that why he had chosen to face Robert? He mused that dying wouldn’t be so bad, that maybe his mistakes would wash away with his spilled blood. However, Ned knew that he would have to own up to them, face the carnage that his inaction had brought. 

When he reached the inner courtyard where the feast had been held, a lookout signaled and several guards, a few in the kingsguard, came forward and faced Ned.

“I Yield,” said Ned, holding up his hands, and the guards grabbed him, holding him by both arms. 

Furniture had been piled up to make fortifications, tables laying on their sides as makeshift walls pulled back so as to let them through. <ost of the vomit and filth had been cleaned up by servants, a few still moping up. The smell hadn’t gone away, however, and the deeper they went into the open feasting hall, the worse it got. The sweet smell of sickness made his eyes water, and Ned tried to keep them closed as he walked to the high table.. 

Sitting in the middle place at the table, angrily yelling almost incoherently at a knight, was King Robert.

“Your grace,” said Ned, kneeling before the King, looking down at the floor. Before he might have lowered his head in shame, but now he just wanted to look away. Robert looked crazed, like he would tear him or anyone else even suspected to pieces.

“Stark,” muttered Robert, regarding him and standing up from the table. Ned could feel the eyes of the king boring through him, and he wondered if he would rise from that place with his head. But after several minutes, the King came around the table and placed a rough hand on his shoulder.

“You knew, didn’t you?” he said, and Ned’s silence told him everything he needed to know. Robert removed his hand, and Ned stood up,, seeing the rage having lessoned in his King’s eyes.

“Stark, you’re an uptight, cold man. You frequently tried to warn me of their treachery, and I’ve probably let the Lannisters get away with worse. Still, this plan to kill them”- that was when Ned interrupted him. “Your grace, I didn’t do this. My family had nothing to do with this assassination,” he said, and Robert’s eyes narrowed. But then he nodded, clenching his jaw with a grimace. “I don’t know if that’s true, but we can concern ourselves with that treachery later. Since none of my true household or hosts were harmed beyond sickness, I will leave your family alone. If it was the Martell’s…” he drifted off, remembering how much Dorne hated him. The Lannisters may have been the target of Dorne’s ire, but some of it still clung to him, since it was his rebellion that ultimately led to Elia Martell’s death. 

“Thank you, your grace,” said Ned, and Robert embraced him, pulling him close and whispering so that only Ned could hear. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”

To this, Ned shook his head, knowing that he was to blame as well, “I’m sorry for not speaking up sooner.”

The two let go and then turned to the men present, surveying the literal mess which they found themselves in. 

“I suppose we should attempt to assemble our men and work on killing the bitch then, huh?” asked Robert, stepping back and looking about like it was a casual thing to say.

“Yeah, I guess we should, your grace,” said Eddard, giving his king a terse smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review! I love the feedback and appreciate all of my readers who have been so patient with me. Hope to get the next update out sooner than this one. 
> 
> Happy apocalypse.


	23. A Message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Starks and their allies attempt to take the walls of Sunspear. Cersie has a message for those who oppose her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a while. Getting ready for the holidays is difficult in apocalypse land. Just trying to get food that my roommates can eat, keeping in mind allergies, vegans, and a few kosher, so I'm kinda doing my research. 
> 
> Still, I should push myself to write, since I no longer have a job and am a mess. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope y'all like it. Love any critical feedback I can get. Enjoy!

“So, do you believe that the Greyjoy boy’s life is in danger?” asked the King, eyeing Elia and Arya suspiciously. 

They had joined their forces, uncertainly at first, the tension between them hard to overcome. However, the familiar links between Baratheon and Stark were re-discovered. The Martells and their bannermen still mistrusted the King and his men, but as they hated the Lannisters more, they helped them to their armory and soon were armed and ready. However, it was pointed out by all, much to the King’s annoyance, that although with their three sides joined they matched the Lannisters in numbers, the Lannisters could surround them and simply lay siege if their alliance were found out. 

That was why the King sat moodily, glaring down at the stony faced Sand Snake and listened as she and Arya recounted what they had seen in the Lannister camp.

“Not until dawn, but the queen said that she would send us a message when the sun comes up, should they not get anything useful from him by dawn,” said Arya, serious. She hated speaking to the King. Hated that she had to act the lady here in order to be listened to. At least the King realized how important Theon was as a hostage of the Starks, and understood the possible consequences of losing him. Despite his understanding, the alliance between the Martells and the king was loose at best, which was why Arya pled to him, despite her disgust for him.

When they had joined the Baratheon forces, Elia’s first priority was finding her sister. She had run like a wild child, as if desperate to find her other half. Fortunately, Obella was easy enough to find, sitting on a table with a bandaged up arm and eating a mutton chop, as she had lost her supper earlier that day. The two girls had been so wrapped up in making sure that the other wasn't hurt, that it had been almost impossible to pull Elia away to speak to the king. However, Arya eventually dragged her physically, her mother wrinkling her nose at the sight of her getting physical and pulling the girl along the floor. However, once she had managed to wrangle the Sand Snake, Arya snapped back into speaking like a lady, using her graces if not well, then at least clearly. The number of tents and remaining Lannister forces were vital intel, and she needed them to listen to her and Elia. 

“How can we make sure that the Lannisters don’t surround us?” asked Ned, scrunching his brow in thought. He tended to be straight forward in battle, and had never been trapped within a siege before. 

“That’s easy,” said Oberyn, sitting with his leg propped up on an ottomen. Tyene stood at his side, protectively, and Nymeria and Obara practiced with their weapons. “We surround them first. Up on the walls.”

“The wall of spikes?” asked Robb, standing up, holding a map of Sunspear. 

“That's only the gate facing the sea, and it gets cut off by other walls so the outermost yard is cut up,” said Oberyn, unrolling the map and showing the layout of the entire fortress. “The front and sides are solid stone, with several floors inside and enough room for archers on the very top. Since the Lannisters are in the outermost yard in the front facing the shadow city, we can send all of our archers up onto the outer wall and surround them. They’re trapped on all sides in an oval. The only way out is through the gate, or to enter the palace again.”

Ned looked down at the map, thinking it over. They only had eight hours to save Theon, and he knew that losing his hostage would put the entire realm in grave danger. He nodded his assent to the plan, the king eyeing him impatiently, just wanting to get at Cersei. 

“It’s settled then, we surround them, and demand surrender. If they flee into the castle, we can have infantry at the ready inside. If they try to leave through the gate, then we set arrows upon them” said Robb, and Ned gave his son a curt nod, showing him how to handle a war council. 

They looked to the king, who nodded, his frown obscured by the filth in his beard. “Let’s set out our archers then”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“thirty arrows each, it’s what we have,” said Jon, handing out arrows to the men, reserving thirty for himself. 

“Now what are you planning on doing with those?” said the voice of his father behind him. Jon froze, he hadn’t wanted Ned to know of his plans. But it seemed his father was always one step ahead of him, knowing how he thought.

“I don’t want to be on the wall unarmed,” he replied, matter of factly. 

“You’re not going up on that wall Jon,” said Ned, looking seriously at his son. 

“But I”-”Jon, I want our entire family to survive this. I know that you are willing to throw your life away if it means you’ll be regarded as good and noble, but I don’t want that. And neither would your mother.”.

Jon’s eyes went wide at this, but he nodded and handed over the arrows, looking down at his feet as his father took them. It had felt like a low blow, as Ned never mentioned his mother. It wasn’t fair for him to use it against him now, but things weren’t fair, he was reminded.

“I’ll tell you about her, if we live,” Ned whispered, placing a hand on Jon’s shoulder. Jon couldn’t look up at his father, and Ned sighed, leading him away from their men.

“I have a different job for you, Jon.” He looked up at his father then, and walked along with him, glancing back at the archers, sadly. He wanted to help, but he needed to know about her

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There was a stairwell which led up to a passage that connected to the outer wall. It was a twisting stone stairwell that led to a roofed bridge, connecting to a guard tower and a parapetted roof. Obara led the way, walking silently. She had only to lead them, knowing she had to fall back and let the archers take care of any problems. However, with the sound of the first arrow wiring past her head, she knew that they wouldn’t make it to the wall.

Her suspicion had been confirmed when more arrows shot down from the top of the stairs, and she knew that there was no way the men could make it to the top. As much as she wanted to tell the men to charge onward and upward, she didn’t know how many Lannister men were up there waiting, and she knew that she wasn’t trained for this kind of fight. She was used to open plains, not tight quarters or vertical spaces. 

Obara gave a signal for the archers to back up, but she was too late, and a rain of arrows came down upon them. One of the archers pulled her back, and she used her short spear to knock some out of the way, but she was still hit, she felt the arrows lodging in her forearm. It wasn't even painful, she just felt a sudden thud against her skin, and then another, and then one in her shoulder. 

And then, she did something she had never done before. Obara Sand dropped her spear. Her features were set, eyes unblinking as she stared at where it sat on the steps as she was dragged back out of the tower and back to regroup.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Trystane sat quietly as the men argued, trying to focus. He knew that things were bad, that two Baratheon men were killed, and his cousin wounded. But he couldn’t think about that, he had to figure out how to get the men on that rampart. Sunspear was old, many passages built and then forgotten, rediscovered, sealed off, and he had read about all of them at some point. He just needed to find which passage would lead to the outer wall, and so Trystane blocked out the rumbling voice of the king as he studied the maps of Sunspear. He used a magnifying glass to read the tiny writing, beyond hiding his poor eyesight. Let the King's men whisper that his eyes didn't work, he could read better than most of them.

Arya sat with Trystane as he peered over the layouts and maps, handing him things and trying to feel less useless.

“Some honeymoon, eh?” she asked, and he just laughed, a rare occurrence. Trystane got serious whenever he was reading, pouring over whatever tomes he chose like a drunk man at his cups, and he very rarely let himself be distracted.

“It’ll be one to tell at feasts for years to come,” he said, leaning in closer to one spot in particular. “I think I see something,” he said, sitting up and keeping a finger at the place on the map. “Pup, hand me the oher map, the one with the crumbling Martel sigil,” he said, waving vaguely at the pile of scrolls just out of his reach. "There's a mark indicating a door here, but no stairs leading up. I think it might be a secret entrance."

Arya complied, picking up one of the scrolls and unrolling it for him and holding it at the edges while Trystane worked, excited to see him figure it out. Somehow, she knew he that would. “Aha!” he declared, pointing at a spot on the map. “Tell your father, I know how to get us up there.”

\---------------------

“You’re talking about following the plans of a blind boy?” demanded the King, frustratedly pacing, followed timidly by a fearful cup bearer. 

“Your grace, I have every reason to believe this is the best way to take the Lannister camp,” said Ned, the King brushing him off and taking another long drink from his goblet. He didn’t want planning and siege and sneaking. He wanted to kill the bitch.

“My King,” said Robb, standing up and approaching Robert, narrowing his eyes. “Your grace, my father would never argue for a plan he didn’t think would work. Those are old plans of sunspear, but there’s no reason the secret stairs wouldn’t still be there. I say we send some men and investigate.” he paused, sweat gathering on his brow, knowing that his mother and father were both watching. He knew that Jon was off brooding about not being allowed to fight, but was glad of it. He wasn’t ready to lose his brother, nor did he want to be humiliated in front of him, if the king didn't listen. 

“Your father has always been a damned fool,” said Robert, pushing Robb back, but he caught himself, and stood straight. As much as his father didn’t like it, he had learned from his short time in King’s Landing and then Dorne, that half of politics was appearance.

“And if it weren’t for that damned fool, you would be dead many times over,” said Robb, not backing down. 

Robert took another long drink of wine, glaring at Robb, but the boy didn’t look away. 

“We have men up in the watchtowers, which is why the Lannisters haven’t lined their men on top of the walls, just guarding the stairs. If we can make it on top of the ramparts, we’ll have them surrounded and finally have the upper hand. They’ll be forced to surrender. You can have your justice against Cersie,” he said, watching King Robert carefully. He noticed how his manner had become a bit unbalanced, almost wobbly. The battle going on inside the King’s head was plain for all to see, how much he wanted to charge in, despite knowing that the Lannister had more room in the yard to spread out and trap them in. But the mention of the Queen sunk it, and King Robert was nodding, stupidly, but giving his assent all the same, before walking off. “We’ll do it, take the wall,” he muttered, a couple of servants coming to help him, but he pushed them away, saying something about needing to be well rested before killing the bitch as he left the makeshift war room. 

Robb let out a breath, almost unable to believe that it had worked, before turning and catching Tyene’s eye, giving her a knowing wink, and she smiled, taking the pitcher from the cupbearer. Politics was tough, but he was learning.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The way had been clear, using the secret passage, and the Stark, Baratheon, and Martell Bannermen were able to clear the regular entrance stairs of Lannisters. There hadn't been many, but a few men with an advantage of higher ground with artillery had been enough to hold them back. They all knew that there was little time to rescue the Greyjoy boy, although most didn’t understand the significance. 

It was tough, fighting inside of narrow castle walls. As soon as they reached the ramparts, a Martell flag was held up, lit with a torch, so that the few guards in the high towers wouldn’t fire upon them, the reason the Lannisters hadn't placed their men on the outer walls. The guard towers alerted, they then crossed onto the inner walls, surrounding the Lannisters on all sides. A busy kind of alertness was present with the men on top of the wall as they lined up. They knew that the upper hand was had, and that it was hard to lose now that they had the Lannisters surrounded. 

A call to ready was made, and the Lannister men who had been on watch saw and alerted their officers. 

There was no way for the Lannisters to fight back

And then the queen emerged from the camp, followed by Jaime and Sir Gregor Clegane, walking out to the inner wall of Sunspear like she hadn’t a care in the world. Cersie had straightened herself out, her hair now once again silken and tied back, not fancy, but neat. Her dress was clean, tied tight and her tiara was fixed and on correctly once again. She had put thought into her appearance, her wearing the tiara a slight, as only a married royal woman could wear one, as if she still held any legitimacy.

“Hold your fire,” announced Obara, and she watched as Cersie walked out of the camp with her brother and who could only be the Mountain. She felt a dread as the dawn’s light peaked over the walls of Sunspear.

“I wish to speak to a delegate,” Cersie said, loud and clear, and Obara nodded and a flag was raised. That was the signal for the officers to open the inner gate, in case a parley was to be held.

Nymeria rode out to the Lannister camp from the nearest building entrance, and got off of her horse as she approached. 

“Your grace,” she said, in a mocking voice. “I can see you cleaned up well, it wasn’t such a great loss, I suppose.”

Cersie’s face darkened, and she would have had her killed right then and there, but she instead pressed a small wooden box into the Sand Snake’s hands. 

Nymeria opened the box and her face went white, and she turned and got back on her horse. In her disgust, she spurred her horse forward, wanting to rid herself of the vile package. Lord Eddard waited for her, standing in the open inner gate. His sons, Robb and Jon, there by his side arrows at the ready, covering Nymeria. If the queen even moved wrong, they’d have taken her down.

A strange gleam in Cersie’s eyes caught Jon off guard, and he pointed it out to Robb with a look. He knew that Cersie had done something horrible, and they both kept their eyes on her, covering their Dornish ally, focusing on their job instead of whatever the queen had done

The Sand Snake rode up to Ned and handed him the box, her face a picture of horror, and she was unable to look at him as she dismounted and led her steed inside.

Ned looked in the box and then immediately closed it. Inside was one of Theon Greyjoy’s testicles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review! I look forward to seeing what y'all think
> 
> Anyway, happy Thanksgiving, and happy apocalypse!


	24. An exchange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A negotiation leads to a prisoner exchange with Cersie, and Tyene has a realization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long. I have been on the road, home for Christmas, job hunting, and a complete mess the entire time. 
> 
> I hope that y'all like the chapter. Please review if you do.
> 
> Thank you

Ned’s stomach turned, hating having to negotiate with Cersie. It was bad enough that the King had woken up and he was now having to deal with one mad man. The Lannister woman, no longer the queen, not after this, was on a whole other level of demented. 

He took a deep breath and straightened as he began to walk out towards Cersie, keeping his emotions in check. His sons stood by with their bows at the ready, as well as all those on the wall, high above the Lannister camp. He did not know how to negotiate with her, only that he couldn’t allow his ward to be killed in this conflict. Rescuing Theon was his first priority, he reminded himself, as his stomach turned at the sight of Cersie followed by her twin.

Jamie seemed to have recovered from whatever had been done to his food, and stood in his shining armor, glinting with gold plating. He seemed to not even notice Ned, standing a few feet back from his sister, who was now wearing an elegant red gown and a smug smile on her lips. 

Upon reaching her, Eddard didn’t bow, but kept his hands in front of him, away from his sword. 

“Cersie,” he began, still gripping the wooden box with one hand. 

“Ned,” she purred, mocking his informal approach.

“My apologies, my lady. I am unsure of how to address you now. Now, about this,” he continued, holding up the box, uncertain but deciding to keep this interaction brief. 

“He still has the other, but I can have that one sent to you, should your side…” she trailed off, waving a delicate hand to indicate the Stark and Martell men on the wall.

Ned raised a brow, waiting for her to continue, knowing that her demands were coming, and she continued smoothly, as if not having stopped at all. “Hand over the mastermind behind the murder of my son, or else I will send you back your ward, piece by piece.”

“And provoke the wrath of Balon Greyjoy?” asked Eddard, almost whispering. He looked at Jamie, who’s face drained of color, only seeing the look on Cersie’s face out of the corner of his eye for a brief instant. Even with her attempts to keep her composure, even Ned could tell that she was starting to realize that they had taken the wrong hostage.

“If you harm him further, I will send a letter to Balon, giving him leave to ramsack King’s Landing without any repercussions. Aren’t your other children there, Cersie?” he asked, copying the nonchalant voice that he had picked up from such interactions in King’s Landing. As much as he hated the devious political schemes and veiled language of the southern court, he had seen a lot of it, and was learning to work within it, like it or not. 

Cersie looked uncertainly at Eddard, but then turned to her brother, obviously whispering something that Ned couldn’t quite make out. She seemed panicked, knowing that she had lost already if she didn’t fix this. However, Cersie quickly recomposed herself, and then faced Eddard again. 

“I have decided to reconvene my council, and will start negotiations again in a few hours. If a single arrow is fired upon us, I will personally finish castrating the Greyjoy brat myself. Lord Balon may sail for King’s Landing, but the north is closer,” she said sweetly.

Eddard nodded, turning back to the inner wall and not looking back, feeling Cersie’s smirk burning into the back of his head.

The next time they heard from the Lannister camp, it was a demand for a hostage exchange. 

"We don’t have any hostages,” he said upon receiving word of the demand, wary of Cersie and any offer she made. It was nearing sunset, the archers up on the wall still ready to rain death upon the camp at a word. The situation was gonna get out of hand if they didn’t get the outside factors sorted out. 

He hated these types of engagements, hated taking Theon hostage in the first place. Now Eddard had to figure out who to hand over to Cersie in exchange. At that moment he reviled her, briefly seeing the world through her eyes, as she forced him to consider who was expendable to him. 

There were quite a few, in fact, at least among the Martell and Baratheon households. Eddard had demanded to know why they should do such a thing, but it was obvious. Cersie wanted to narrow down the outside factors. No vengeful Greyjoys, but a contained conflict that wouldn’t result in her other children’s demise.

“She said that we will negotiate further after the prisoner exchange,” said Eddard, explaining the situation carefully to Oberyn

“I don’t want your people attacked, but I don’t know who we would send,” said the prince, frowning as he and Ned discussed the situation. His daughters stood back, by his side. Eddard had asked him to spare the girls the worry, but Oberyn had been unwilling to leave them out of the loop, insisting that his daughters had the right to know whatever was decided. Since Ned wouldn’t dismiss his sons, he supposed it was even.

“It has to be someone that Cersie would trust is actually cared for, someone she would know isn’t a pawn you’re willing to abandon,” said Ned, hating himself for not being willing to offer up any of his own. He couldn’t do that, not after he had failed to protect them already. 

It was bad enough that he knew they had to do the dishonorable thing and attack after the prisoner exchange anyway, since they would then have the upper hand. 

The two men spoke seriously, both ignoring Jon, who had hesitantly come forward to volunteer. He had tried to plant himself between the two, but Eddard just gave Jon a serious look and shook his head no, and Jon frowned, stepping back with Robb, who threw an arm around him, unwilling to let him go. 

The discussion was going nowhere, until a loud crack got the mens’ attention, and Nymeria pushed her way between them, fuming

"We can’t just sit around and talk, that bitch with a tiara is holding a boy who’s father has easy access to your lands and would sack King’s Landing without hesitation, and we Martell’s have enough bad blood with the rest of the Kingdoms. We don’t need even more with the Iron Islands seeking revenge,” stated Nymeria, pushing past the men. 

“Daughter,” started Oberyn, but she cracked her whip at his outstretched hand, and then brandished it at the guard who held the door. “Open it,” she snarled, and he didn’t hesitate to push the door open for the Sand Snake. She walked through the open door backwards, keeping her whip ready to strike at anyone who tried to stop her, and no one did, knowing that she couldn’t be stopped.

“Nymeria!” yelled Tyene, but it was half hearted, giving her sister a look of surrender. “Be safe.”. 

She simply nodded, and then once far enough away, turned and walked toward the Lannister Camp, and she made her way across the dusty yard. It was getting late in the day and the wind blowing her loose green pants and scarf made waves in the fabric, the color standing out against the golden sand and crimson tents of the Lannister camp.

“I will be your hostage,” Nymeria announced, dropping her whip and folding her hands in front of her, using a strange, formal tone. None there who witnessed would have been judged harshly for mistaking her for a proper lady, much less a princess of Dorne. “I, Nymeria Sand, daughter and dual heir to prince Oberyn of Dorne, volunteer to trade places with Theon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands.” 

All watched in horror, uncertain on how to handle this. A few guards came out of the camp to meet her, and Nymeria followed them without struggle. After a minute of discussion with the Lannister men, she was taken, willingly, into a tent.

There was a very tense wait after that. As the sun sank low, everyone held their breath as they waited for a sign, any sign, that the Lannisters would keep their word. 

It felt like an eternity, five minutes, twenty, the twilight of stars were beginning to light up the sky, and all were about to give up and let the Ravens loose with their messages, when a stirring came from the camp. It seemed like a lot of tent rustling, and Lannister men leading something on a rope. 

Then, a figure on horseback appeared, slowly walking toward the inner wall. 

Jon pointed out the figure, alerting Ned and Oberyn to it. It was too dark to see very well, and none yet dared to hope. All held their breath as the figure came closer, uncertain, and then they saw that it was indeed Greyjoy. 

He was bruised all over, his face puffy and lips cracked. He also sat strangely, and it wasn’t until he got close that it was obvious that despite his weak state, Theon was trying to stand in the saddle’s stirrups. The ride was short, but Theon was crying out by the end of it, shaking all over. It was Robb who pulled the horse inside, and Eddard attempted to lift him from the saddle. 

At first, Theon protested, trying to dismount by himself, but then cried out having moved wrong, and he fell, Ned catching him before he could hit the ground. It took some maneuvering, but Eddard was able to lift him up and made to carry Theon inside, Jon and Robb following closely at his sides. .

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tyene furrowed her brow as she worked, examining Theon’s injuries carefully. She looked up and gave him a reassuring smile.

“No damage to your other bullock, Theon. You should still be able to have kids, as long as we take care of the wound and you don’t get an infection,” she said, taking a clean, cool cloth and putting it on his forehead. Jon and Rob sat on one side of Theon, with Sansa on the other, sitting on her knees and holding one of his hands in hers

Lady Catelyn had tried to keep Sansa from going in to see him, but she had insisted that after what she had been through and seen, nothing would shock her again. She was blushing pink, but as a lady, she could handle this. He had been like a brother to her, after all, and she wanted to make sure that Theon was alright. 

“I’ll kill him, Jamie fucking took my stone. I’m gonna fuck his skill until he chokes,” he said through hsi teeth. This somehow made everyone present feel better than all of Tyene’s reassurances. If there was revenge to be had, Theon wouldn’t die out of spite alone. 

“Aaaah, fuck,” he winced, and gripped Sansa’s hand tighter, cringing as Tyene applied a salve to the area. 

“Be glad it hurts. Dead tissue feels nothing,” explained the said Snake with a morbid grin.

“What is that?” asked Robb, wrinkling his nose at the smell as he watched in fascination and horror. 

“Bread mold poultice,” muttered Tyene, adding clean linen and holding her hands up, pleased with her results.

“He’ll be okay?” asked Sansa, more curious now about the Dornish medicine than worried.

“He’ll be good as gold, as long as he takes care of that wound and remaining testicle like it’s the family jewels” said Tyene, standing up and going to wash her hands. 

“I’ll kill anyone who comes near it,” he promised making a fist with his free hand.

“Also, no sex. Not for a few moons, even if the area stops hurting. Understood, tin island brain?? You don’t fuck until I say so,” she chidded. Theon made to protest, but then fell back as another pain shot through him from trying to sit up. 

“Not too different from what you told Rosalyn,” said Robb, helpfully, and Theon nodded obediently, resigned to his fate. 

“Not the same,” he muttered, not liking the comparison. “I’m not a girl.”

Tyene stood and went to a bench and cabinet and started pulling out bottles, mixing liquids in a small glass and then handing it to Sansa.

Sansa looked at the liquid suspiciously but then shrugged, having drunk many a cup of strange drinks to purge her body in the past year. She held her nose as she drank it down, shuddering as it hit her throat.

“That’ll cleanse the bastard’s bastard from you. It’ll work, too, otherwise I wouldn’t have given you the last of it,” said Tyene, giving Sansa a sweet smile. 

“Last of it? I thought you bought it by the pound,” said Jon, looking up at Tyene questioningly.

“Too much was going on to buy more, what with the scheming and the sneaking and planning and other whatnots,” she shrugged, giving Jon a small smile.

“But you’ve been taking it?” he asked, a nervous tension running up his spine.

“Yes, I did,” she said, pulling out a bottle of the same shape, holding it up, and looking at the label. However, her face went white upon looking at it, and then her cheeks started to turn pink.

“Tyene?” asked Jon, Robb’s eyes darting back and forth between his brother and the Sand Snake. 

“Bladderwort, I was supposed to take Laserwort. I brewed the wrong tea for myself,” she breathed, biting her lips. 

“Are you announcing Jon’s a father at my castration?” asked Theon, smiling in amusement. 

“This month I…,” Tyene’s words trailed off, and her body language showed that this truly was an accident. She looked nervously at Jon, and bit her lip, uncertain of what to say. “I thought I was just sick from nervousness, oh gods, I didn’t meant to.”

“Tyene,” started Jon, and then she turned away, covering her face with her hands. “As soon as the next ship comes in, I’ll take the potion. If we survive this and live long enough, I’ll make sure.”

Jon raised his eyes, a little uncertain, but then stood up, careful to not disturb the pallet that Theon rested on. 

“I found out something recently, Tyene. Father, he… I want to talk to you about it, in private,” he said, and Tyene gave him a questioning look, before she nodded. 

"Does this mean I’m gonna be an uncle?” asked Robb, grinning as he looked at the pair. “Arya is gonna drive you two up a wall.”

“I don’t know yet. It’s a discussion,” said Jon, turning to leave, but Tyene stopped and turned to Sansa.

“Keep an eye on him, if he starts sweating or his temperature goes up, let me know. And don’t go trading yourself for hostages. Cause when we get my sister back, I’m gonna kill her.” And with that, she followed after Jon, taking his hand in hers, and letting him lead her out of the room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed. Will update soon

**Author's Note:**

> Another thing, Catelyn is a little more played up as an arrogant social climber. You see this in the books, with her looking down on all bastards and arranging marriages for her son, wanting to marry Sansa to Joffrey, etc. I feel like people forget that she's kinda devious and despite being a good mother to her kids, is not just an asshole to Jon, but wants the opposite of what Arya does for her future. I think that Catelyn is actually a pretty good character in that she's so motherly yet obviously sees herself above the rules and believes she knows whats best. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope that y'all like this. If you do, please comment. I can't wait to hear feedback, and will try to answer criticisms and questions individually


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